Chapter Text
The battleship’s alarm signals screech into Zim’s antennas, making them to press close to the back of his head. Red lights flash all around him, and he cringes, since it irritates his eyes. “These cursed vortians!” They got his engines and lasers. Zim's body felt lighter as they fell towards their oppositions territory. Gir looked like he was hovering in the air, as he wasn't wearing a seatbelt. He was grabbed by his master and then chielded in his embrace. The Irken looked over the options he had, staring at the control center before him in a stressful focused state.
His questionable relationship with the Tallest contained nothing but having to prove himself to them. The only thing he’d never have to prove was his ability to destroy anything that comes his way. Which was exactly what they were looking for, after the rebels' first strike against the empire. During one of their annual colonial tours, a bomb had been planted in their engine room. When they were as far away from Irk as possible, this said bomb was set off. Something the rebels had not expected though was that this generation of Irken engineers were the best created yet. So not only was the damage repaired before their food supply got critically low, but the Tallest had already begun planning on sending out their troops. They were at war, and there was more opposition than the empire had expected. That did not mean they couldn’t prepare for it though.
It was safe to say the galaxies all around had been affected by this ruckus, which meant everyone was especially on guard. Zim did not forget this. The only destruction he could make use of at this moment though, was the self-destruct button. At least, that was the easiest option he could think of. But another fact about Zim: he never went for the easy option.
Quickly, Zim looked at everything else except that big red button. We were talking about the enemy now, and since he was very clearly Irken, the first thing they'd do would either be A. lock him up and torture him for information. Or B. Kill him on sight. So the solution he needed was one that could help him refrain from both those outcomes. As he comes up with that solution though, the ship hits the ground. Glass breaks, shards whip Zim and cut his skin. He feels his head hit the steering board and a shock goes through his spine. He hunches over and covers Gir further. Once he can, he looks up, and sees vortian ships surrounding him. See is the keyword, because all he can currently hear is a long and obnoxiously loud tone vibrating through the nerves in his antennas.
As soon as the rebels see what's in the ship, they hurry over with a worried expression. They’re met with the sight of a horned, purple Vortian, clutching onto a limp robot. The Vortian looks at them with a blank yet wary stare. He’s in critical condition, his face and body completely cut up and his forehead with a bleeding dent in it. Two of the rebels begin arguing, one is cursing the other out while the other seems to be taking a defensive stance. They grab the hurt Vortian, pointing at him, then violently pointing at each other. All the hurt one in question can hear though, is muffled voices and that loud stinging sound piercing his head. He's leaning unsteadily as he's pulled around during the argument.
A third party walks up and pushes the two angry Vortians apart. They get a scolding from this third alien, whatever race they were. Their victim wasn't looking anymore, simply leaning over it's robot hunched over. The muffled voices quiet down, and everyone turns toward him once again. They don’t expect him to be able to answer any questions, so instead they hurry to get him out and away from there. The two Vortians decide to carry him together, giving up quickly on taking his robot when he won’t let go of it. He’s brought to one of their ships, and laid down on a soft surface as they hurry to their base. His head is propped up with a pillow, and before they can do anything else, he’s out like a light. But still somehow stiff and holding that little robot tightly.
When the hurt Vortian wokes up again, he was met by a bright light shining on him. It made him cringe. His body ached uncomfortably and his head felt heavy. He moved his hand over his eyes to try and shield them from the light. But as he did so he felt his hand touch something else. It was warm and soft. He looked to the side and saw who it belonged to. it was the hand of a…. creature of some sort. He stared at the lifeform with a slight surprised expression. In return, the lifeform let out an awkward smile and spoke to him. “I was just disinfecting your wounds, sorry for waking you.” The Vortian didn't answer and simply kept looking at whatever this was.
This beast looked like nothing he had ever seen before. There was a thick nest of hair on it’s head, with some antenna looking piece sticking out. It wore a worse version of goggles in front of its eyes, that looked like they could easily get knocked off. More hair seemed to grow on its chin, but it must be keeping it short specifically there for some reason. Its skin was soft looking, and easy to pierce through, with more short hairs growing here and there. That hair sure wasn't consistent.
Eyes roam the creature up and down. It’s wearing a clean apron and a pair of gloves. The clothes underneath though, look shabby and used. Like it's been busy and hasn’t had time to change for a long time. It's wearing a blood-stained button up shirt and figure fit waist high pants, perfect for flexibility in the world’s current situation. It’s boots are chunky, scraped and a bit muddy. Maybe they were out doing something before this.
Said creature shifts and speaks once again, which makes the Vortian snap out of it and meet its eyes. They're warm and brown. “That concussion sure has messed you up, huh? Do you remember your name?” There's no pause before an answer comes. “It’s Zim.” The hairy beast- thing quickly raised a brow, then it's their turn to browse the Vortian up and down. “That's a pretty Irken sounding name.”
Irken sounding? Well yeah, why was that a surprise- oh… Zim looks down at his hand, and then quickly hears sirens in his head. He completely forgot about the disguise. Quickly he tries to scram up some way to play this out, to save himself. But his head hurts so bad that it probably won’t sound convincing at all. “Yes, eh… My parents, you see. they, uh, favoured Irken traditions. Must be because of their influence on Vort. With the whole invasion and all.” Zim wanted to slap himself for the stammering and unsure tone of voice. At least the creature looked unintelligent, there was a chance they’d buy it.
The apron wearing thing hummed thoughtfully, still giving Zim the same suspicious look. Crap. "Right… Well, I'm the head doctor at this base. Dib Membrane." The Dib prodded on a mechanical device on his wrist. It seemed to be a mini computer with stored files in it. "We've put you on a fresh blood dropper. Your head seems to have some serious trauma from the crash, so you should be resting as much as possible. As for your wounds, I have already disinfected and wrapped them up. I was planning on changing the bandages for the bigger wounds. I'll be quick, okay?" After telling Zim about his state, he moved to some supplies he had on a closeby table.
Zim's chest visibly lowered, as he let out his relief. He had a hard time processing the majority of what the Dib-beast had told him. But at least he seemed to be prioritising the doctoring over the investigating. Zim was safe, for now.
Dib sat down on the edge of the bed, and unwrapped the bandage around Zims head. He hasn't noticed all the bandages till now, the soreness in his body has taken the attention off them. His head had been wrapped, same for his shoulders, arms and top of his chest. What the wounds underneath were, he had no idea. The wound on his head must be one of the worst ones though, from what the doctor said earlier. That and his head still felt really heavy and… a bit cloudy, actually. Must be the wound that hasn't healed yet. It should be fine soon.
When the Irken looked up, he saw the beast's expression again. This time it looked concentrated. Like it was trying to figure something out while staring at the head wound. It couldn't look that bad, could it? "Weird. The Vortian healing cream hasn't helped at all. If anything, it looks worse." Vortian healing cream. Shit, he forgot (again) that he looked like a Vortian. That must mean they've used only Vortian healing techniques on him. Zim then looked up at the blood drip that was attached to him, growing more nervous by the minute.
"Yes, you see, I have a rare allergy. That cream gives me weird reactions! Actually, most Vortian medication does." The doctor wiped off the cream from the wound, which made Zim flinch. Dib spoke after throwing away the soft cloth he'd used. "That explains the irritation, and your paleness, I guess... It must be an ingredient, and not the product itself. I'll look it up and get back to you." At that, the thing got up and exited the room in a hurry. Must've gotten worried the allergy would do worse things than just irritate the skin. At least Zim was finally alone. This was a great opportunity for him to escape.
The alien scanned the room. He was in a one person bed, with clean sheets. The walls were a boring grey, with no decoration or windows. At the other side of the room was an empty, equally big bed. No nightstands, their feet were facing the exit. He guessed this was some kind of recovery room, maybe? Or it could just be a spare room. It depended on the size of their base. No matter, all he needed now was to find a window, anything. Maybe even his ship, if possible. He needed to get out of here before they found out about his real identity. The internal wounds should be healed by now, anyways. Paks are very efficient, especially while you're resting.
Zim snapped out whatever wires were connected to him, slung his feet off the bed and stood up, in one swift motion. But as he did this, he quickly felt his head both fly away and weigh itself down. His vision became uncooperative, he saw dark spots. The stubborn mull in him screamed with annoyance, making him push himself anyways. Zim would allow himself to look into this once he was away from the traitors.
He took a step, an unsteady one. Then another one, his legs failing him more with every breath. With his third step he could feel the foot going against his orders. He reached his arms up while feeling the ground move under him. They flailed around for something, anything, to grab onto. But instead he found the edge of some metal tray. It followed him down to his doom. As soon as his sore and itchy head hit the ground, his vision went completely black. He was still conscious for a while. His last moments before the second blackout being full of panic, confusion, and desperation.