The Irken and the Pendulum Ch 15

Dib stared at the hand waved in front of him, still at a loss to understand the majority of Zim’s actions nowadays, before turning his attention to more important matters. “I guess we’d better check your injuries, since you kicked up such a fuss last night and this morning.” He muttered. Cautiously reaching to take the hand and check the burns on it, Dib pulled up quickly as he noticed a slight hint of teeth behind a curled-back lip. Zim was wide awake now, and certainly not feeling cuddly. Dib realised he’d have to tread carefully.

Now was the time to be a polite houseguest. With the Irken sending him a look of puzzled, slightly angry confusion, Dib supposed Zim would at least want an explanation as to how he’d received these burns in the first place. Even if it was all the insufferable alien’s own fault.

“You do remember how you got these?”

The alien twitched, still suspiciously eyeing Dib’s hand, as he tried to remember again.

“Zim got them while rescuing the Dib… yes, these are glorious scars of triumph!” Though his voice flitted off into an uncertain pitch as he finished, he covered this with a trademark Zim-puffing-out-of-the-chest. Then doubled over with a groan.

Dib’s eyes grew wide. “…Rescuing me? That was what you were doing in my house?”

Zim looked back up at him and nodded. “Yes, of course! How could you not tell when you were being rescued?”

Scrabbling around for his composure, Dib stared back at him, trying with all his might to hold back an ironic chuckle. However, a smile showed through. “Zim, I came down the stairs to find you face down in the living room, immersed in water.” His smile faded as he recalled the moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rescue attempt quite like that. I had to carry you all the way across town and fix you up… well, try, anyway.” Clearly the burn cream hadn’t quite been enough in the long run, though it had allowed Zim to at least sleep peacefully for some time.

It was the Irken’s turn to baulk, optic orbs growing large. “You resc-… well, you still don’t have scars of glory to show for your success!”

Dib raised an eyebrow at the alien, wondering he felt a slight, curious tug of nostalgia at the cocky retort. He shook his head, smile creeping back. “I’m glad I don’t.” He shuddered at the thought of all those blisters, before a thought came to him. “Though, I did quite enjoy being bed-ridden for weeks on end with my legs completely immobile, after that fire in your base.” A sickening image entered his mind, and he swallowed painfully at the memory of a small green body lying broken and bloodied at he bottom of the elevator. How could Zim even speak of ‘scars of triumph’ after that? Which brought him to a bigger question…

The Irken of course sensed the shift in his mood, but tried to overstep it, fearful himself of slipping back into sorrowful thoughts. He finally had something to focus on that wasn’t his own failures, and by Irk, he was going to hang on to it, constrict it and nail it to the ground if he had to. He wasn’t about to let Dib start moping! The human took a small breath, and Zim tensed, sensing a question was about to be asked. His ‘spooch grew strangely uneasy at the thought. Zim didn’t want to answer questions… he just felt they had to be avoided, like water or children or meat, or great oscillating blades. His gut screamed at him that big questions would bring cruel pain along with them.

“Well,” he interrupted quickly, “I suppose this makes us even, since we’ve both rescued each other.” He hummed absently and tapped the ground with a forefinger, feeling he’d scored a winning hit when the boy’s mood seemed to lift a little and he murmured agreement.

Silence followed, before Dib caught up with his original plan. “So, did you want your injuries looked at, or not?” He asked as lightly as possible, though he was loathe to imagine having to deal with a pain-wracked, screeching Zim the rest of the day.

“I suppose~” Grumbling, Zim held out his hand again, watching the human carefully, being sure he would have to monitor the extent to which Dib was going to ‘examine’ him.

Dib reached for the hand, suddenly struck with a nasty thought as to what exactly he was going to have to do. He’d redressed Zim a few hours after the burns had been treated the night before, in some of his own clothes as the others were still damp (plus there was the sad plight of the jeans, of course), and so far the alien hadn’t appeared to notice the change in attire. But if he was going to have to… well, he certainly didn’t want to try while the alien was awake!... Dib wasn’t sure he could be so handy with a towel if Zim planned to prove he was a more difficult patient than he already had.

He briskly decided he’d wait until that demon popped up to figure out what to do about it.

Dib was glad he’d chosen more merciful clothing than Zim’s last attire of scratchy wool. It was a silent agreement that Zim should worry his burnt skin as little as possible, and so the task of peeling back the sleeves of the light jacket fell to Dib. The Irken hissed in pain and jerked numerous times, which was expected, but nevertheless unpleasant. It was a good few minutes before they’d both calmed down enough to take a good look at the situation. The burns looked less aggressive than they had the previous night, but they were still decently painful.

“Maybe I should’ve applied bandages…” Dib muttered. No, he definitely should have applied bandages. But assuring himself this was a case of ‘better late than never’, Dib didn’t hesitate to find the first aid kit (kept close at hand), and rifle through it until bandages were uncovered. Holding up the long strips to his self-proclaimed patient, Dib than announced he was going to put them on Zim’s arms.

The alien’s red eyes slitted at that, and he showed no reluctance in explaining to Dib that he did not need to be ‘examined’ to such an extent, and could do such a job quite nicely himself. Old habits die hard, and fearing the capacity of sadistic, alien-obsessed stalkers to simply make off with a piece of your arm was one for Zim, regardless of the context it happened to be in.

The teen flinched as his charge snapped back at him, whisking the bandages out of his hands to very, very slowly and carefully begin winding them around one arm. Dib stared, and stared some more, without comment. After several more minutes of stifled yelps and growled Irken words which sounded suspiciously like swearing, Zim had done quite a nice job of wrapping himself up in a wonderfully thick, messy, web-like tangle. He had somehow tied his own arms together.

Dib put a hand over his mouth and snorted, without meaning to, to which the Irken glared balefully. Trying to sound somewhat reasonable, Dib finally broke his comment-less vigil. “Zim… just a casual question; do you even know how to bandage yourself?” The Irken ‘hmph’ed and nodded vigorously, before remembering his neck was in bad shape. Of course he did! How else would he have dealt with the numerous injuries he’d picked up over the years without the full support of his PAK?

“What I meant to say,” Dib elaborated slowly, “is do you know how to bandage yourself properly?”

Zim ‘hmph’ed again, but in a more petty sort of way. Yet another pause followed. He continured to glare at Dib, who had to wonder for just how long they’d be forced into this. The alien’s stubbornness levels seemed to be quite healthy on this fine autumn morning. It was perhaps a hopeful sign he was improving, albeit predictably annoying. An eternity passed between them, and Dib was just contemplating from which angle he could best grab the Irken to remove the bandages by force (gently as possible, though), when he saw the Irken’s face very slowly turn to the side, and his antennae lower resignedly. “Please untie me.” He growled through clenched teeth. Apparently his will wasn’t quite limitless after all.


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After a lengthy, not to mention tedious 30 minutes of struggles, slander and general discord, Zim’s limbs were finally satisfactorily bandaged, and Dib in particular felt he had earned a decent break. He crawled backward from the alien, still panting a little from exertion and wincing at a fine accumulation of fresh scratches. The Irken had become silent, and was sitting facing away from Dib, apparently pensive and engaged in his thoughts (and possibly also sulking over the treatment his poor limbs had just received). The boy slumped back onto a dust-filled cushion with a sigh, wondering dully if he should try to voice his earlier question. While he was sure Zim wouldn’t enjoy explaining himself, he felt it was best if they both came to terms with what had happened over the past three years. Better sooner than later. While it seemed impossible that things could ever return to normal between them given recent occurrences (hell, were there many enemies that rescued and uh… nursed… each other on a regular basis?), perhaps an understanding of what exactly had been going on with Zim might restore a little spark of normalcy to their lives.

Looking at the alien, however, Dib didn’t think he could expect to get much out of Zim now. Besides, the past hours, not to mention the newest disagreement, had drained a lot of his asking-questions energy. No, they could rest now, there was time for talking later.

Suddenly cringing as a pain shot through his belly, Dib groaned, remembering now his earlier plan to get something to eat, lest his stomach turn on him violently. Now seemed like as good a time as any, and rolling onto his side, he made the laborious crawl over to his backpack, secured in a small niche in the wall close to where they’d been sleeping.  

Dib dug into his bag, with some triumph, freeing his prize from the mass of nameless other essentials. His stomach came to attention instantly, and he wasted no time vigorously unwrapping the cold pizza slice (he could swear he heard a stifled gasp off to his right as the wrapping came free) and without so much as a sniff, stuffed it gleefully into his mouth with a pleased noise. Yup… congealed pizza was exactly what he needed right now. He was left feeling at least mildly disappointed when his hands were all too quickly emptied.

Licking his lips of any traces, he heard another stifled sound from the alien. Perhaps he should offer Zim something? It had been rather impolite of him to eat without offering in the first place.

So, “Uhh… pizza, Zim?” He knew there was another slice in there, and he was quick to retrieve it, peeling a little of the gladwrap away and holding it out to the alien with a nervous kind of grin. Zim must’ve been hungry after all the trauma he’d been through, and besides, there couldn’t be much food for the Irken around here anyway. But upon catching sight of Dib’s gift, he seemed to visibly pale, shuffling backward and making a soft retching noise, antennae flattening themselves in defense. “T-take it away…”

So Zim didn’t appreciate pizza. Dib made a half-heartedly apologetic face (though he wasn’t entirely sure whether he expected it to have some effect on the Irken) and withdrew the offering, the cheese-and-sauce aroma catching in his nose and exciting his appetite again, but he remembered his manners this time. Perhaps the alien might eat something else. Digging around in the bag some more, Dib now produced a sandwich. The alien had turned away, but it was apparent from the excited, darting movements of his lekku that his posture betrayed his interest in the food.
The human smiled encouragingly, waving the item before him. “Come on, then.”
Zim turned and glared at him mildly for that, before cautiously moving in, antennae stretched forward, to take the gift, his tattered pride evidently unable to resist the offer. Rather than eating it right then and there, as any normal starving person (or Dib, at least) would, he proceeded to scrutinise it closely, feelers twitching and skimming over the surface, reminding Dib of an inquisitive ant.
“Heh, it’s okay. There’s no meat on it.” He’d already checked.
Zim glanced back up at him again, and Dib wondered for a brief second whether he might decide to insert his teeth into him instead. So he was understandably relieved when the prying red eyes returned to the sandwich in his hands, and the alien proceeded to unwrap it.

What happened next made Dib stare. The alien raised his feelers away from the prize before taking a small bite. Not a nervous little nibble, but rather a slow, careful, deliberate bite, making sure no crumbs went astray. Had Zim had some kind of intensive practice at this? Dib figured it was strange to him because he’d rarely ever seen the Irken eat anything (he seemed to prefer sniffing, gagging and prodding at given food repeatedly, sometimes for full half hours at a time), but still… he couldn’t believe any creature as hungry as Zim must be could eat in such a deliberate manner. No one was that much of a neat freak. As the alien swiped away the last crumbs with his tongue, Dib felt an uncomfortable movement in his own stomach, and groaned. He was hungry again.

The boy cringed mildly in embarrassment when the alien looked over, having picked up on his plight with not a little amusement. He actually grinned a bit, making Dib want to scowl at the contemptuous little thing. Instead he tried shifting the attention away from himself.
“It’s… interesting how you can eat like that, considering you must be hungry.” He stated, a slight tilt to his head. Zim’s antenna twitched, seeming to take it as a compliment.
“Indeed, human. Zim has learned to adapt to the small amount of edible matter in this desolate hole.”
Dib couldn’t conceal his interest now. “What do you mean?” He then winced again as his gut gave a loud protest.
Again, Zim took note of this with an upward twitch of the mouth. “If Zim eats slowly, his belly does not grumble so loudly and frequently. Zim is able to go longer without eating again.”

“Oh.” Dib studied a small scrap of carpet with interest. It sounded like something a parent might say to their kid, which made it all the more annoying when it came from Zim. Still, the logic seemed fair.
“Then… what do you normally eat?”

Zim hummed as he thought about this. “I used to raid vending machines…” Probably the most bearable kind of food he’d encountered on the planet came from the large, puke-coloured, vaguely nostalgic boxes.  “And when they ran out, eh… whatever was available had to do. Occasionally there were dead possums in the roof…”

Dib pulled a face, disgusted at the both the though of eating a dead possum and the idea that Zim would do such a thing. “Ugh. How could you even eat a possum? It’d be basically meat and water.”

“The meat isn’t processed and chemical-filled like the dookie humans consume. So it is edible enough. And as for the water, there is usually none left. All the weird dust up there seems to preserve the body so it’s a lot like one of your freeze-dried snacks before you heat it up.” He ran a slick red tongue over his lips, more to upset the boy than any real delight over the subject.

Dib dearly wished he hadn’t asked that particular question.