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Description
Dib watches the last one fall, its blood splattering across the pavement, before putting his rifle down and shutting the window. Zim struggles to stand, and for a moment they're back to when Dib was a kid and just slightly taller than him. But then Dib uses the wall to help him get up from his kneeling position, and he's towering once again.

He doesn't really look at Zim, just turns around and starts walking toward the bed, stretching his back. Zim looks out the window for a moment, wide-eyed. He doesn't know how Dib can see so well in the dark. Zim used to be able to, but his artificial eyes are so worn by now out that he doubts he can see as well as Dib at any time. He notices that the window is unlocked, and without thinking reaches up to lock it, like it would actually help guard against something.

"How was it?"

"Eh?"

"My shooting, how was it?"

"Getting better." It's excellent, probably better than Zim's. Zim, luckily, hasn't gotten much practice, and he doesn't intend to any time soon.

"I didn't know how much I'd gotten the short end of the stick when we agreed that you'd deal with the aliens and I'd deal with the . . . uh, things that used to be humans."

"Nonsense. You need the target practice. Human heads are so tiny and they're always moving around. That's why you're getting so good." Zim quickly realizes what he is saying and adds, "You know, for a human. Besides," he looks at the long stretch of carpet separating him and the wall he's leaning against and the bed, letting out a ragged breath, "I don't know how exactly how well we'll handle anyone from the Empire or the Syndicate if they find us. I'm very amazing, but not that amazing. And you'll be in my way the whole time."

Dib shrugs. "Oh well. At least we can say we tried." He splays himself out on the bed, boots and guns and everything else important still secured on his person, of course. "They're too busy fighting each other, anyway."

Zim attempts to hide his limp as he walks, but ends up having to give that up and simply be thankful he doesn't fall. Dib is looking up at the ceiling and not at him, anyway. And GIR is being good and quietly playing with a soda can in the corner, so he doesn't have to worry about being bowled over or anything. Finally, he plops down, and Minimoose is nuzzling against up against him almost instantly.

Dib rolls over to watch him as he pulls off one boot and carefully slides up his pant leg, hissing as he discovers that fabric has stuck quite horribly to the exposed flesh again. He just stares at it. It seems to be at some stage beyond infection. Where the human-thing's teeth had actually touched is black with a crusty yellow creeping over it, and the flesh that had been exposed after his skin had been torn off is an array of colors, all sickly, all like nothing even Zim has ever seen.

"Wow, Zim, that looks really . . ."

"It's just all germy and stuff," he says, yanking his pant leg back down. When he jams his feet back into his boots, he feels the pus and other excrements from the would that had pooled at the bottom. It's actually a pretty frightening amount, considering that his pant leg is also mildly soaked through. "It's not - Well, you know. I'm not infected or anything."

Dib winces at simply hearing the word. "I know. You said that Irkens can't get infected. I mean, you can, but not to the point where you go crazy like humans. Your immune systems are used to it, right?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

Dib simply looks at him, frowning, until a slight bang sounds outside, sort of like a trash can being toppled over. He almost jumps up, until Zim puts his hand up and they both watch a raccoon scurry across the pavement.

Dib sighs, shaking his head. "You sure you're okay keeping watch while I'm asleep?"

"Of course." Not really. "I'm not as easily frightened by small Earthen mammals as you are." Also a lie. "Besides, all the human-things sleep at night just like you." But Irken and Syndicate soldiers don't.

Zim suspects that Dib knows this, but Dib gives him a reassured smile anyway, and starts burrowing under the covers. When GIR and Minimoose notice this, they both scurry to cuddle with him. The know quite well that their master is not usually in a cuddling mood at night, less so than usual. Much less so.

All three seem to go to sleep instantly, and Zim assumes his usual night watch position. He stares into the pitch black darkness outside, thankful they finally found a place with no street lights. The stupid human-things sometimes stay out if it's lit up enough. He's actually slightly worried about the alarm clock in the room, but he figures they're alright. Besides, he can handle a couple of zombies. It's everything else he can't handle.

"Zim?" If he hadn't been so exhausted, he probably would have jumped up ten feet in the air. It takes him a second to calm down and realize it's Dib that said it.

"What?"

"Why didn't I get infected?"

"I told you, you contracted a mild form from me a long time ago. It built up an immunity in you so when that Irken fleet was stranded here-"

"I know that. But why me?"

"Because you were around me so much. You were always highly susceptible to any illness I may have brought with me from Irk."

"I know, but . . . You know what, never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just being an idiot and thinking there's a bigger picture or maybe even some driving force in the universe again."

"Oh. I thought you said you weren't going to do that anymore."

"Good night, Zim."

Gah, the human acts so funny when he's tired. Zim almost starts thinking he's asleep yet again, until he says,

"Promise you won't go insane and try to eat my throat out in my sleep?"

"Promise." It's very automatic, this promise. Dib's joking, he assumes, but still. He's not infected. That isn't possible. Even if he is, he'll just get a little sick, and it'll pass. There's absolutely no way he'll go crazy like those weak, pitiful humans.

He doesn't even remember why or how so many Irkens and Syndicates got here, just the beginning with the one fleet getting stranded in the middle of nowhere. Some Syndicates came shortly after. And then someone blew his base up, so he blew some ships up and now apparently everyone wants to kill him. People are funny like that.

And Dib. He doesn't know what they'd do to Dib. Probably just shoot him or something. They don't care that he's probably the last real human left in existence or that he had saved him from a pack of human-things all by himself after Zim had escaped from the Irkens or Syndicate - he can't quite remember which at the moment - and was all dizzy and kept passing out and stuff. They won't know that he had killed everyone he used to know, including his paternal unit, because they had tried to "eat his face off," and he likes to joke about it now and would probably make a fine soldier if they managed somehow to get him on their side.

Zim thinks about the other day, just realizing that he can't remember how long ago it was, that they had been completely surrounded. Dib had gotten them out with nothing but the bite on Zim's leg. Adding up all of the times they've been surrounded, Dib has a pretty high success rate.

He realizes far too late that he's started thinking about the bite again. He can't do that or - well, he's already sweating now. And his hand is reaching down to start scratching at it but he promptly yanks both up and folds his arms across his chest. He tries to ignore the sharp pains in his stomach and leg and head, but it's hard without anyone at all awake to distract him.

He doesn't notice the he closed his eyes until he opens them again. He thinks about having to keep watch, but since everything is so dark and closing his eyes feels so much better, he forgets about that, but he manages to raise his eyes to the clock first.

1:15 AM

He closes his eyes again, trying to count to himself as far as he can in all the languages he knows. He's sure all of this is purely psychological, and being distracted is what staves it off during the day. Logically, distraction should make all of this go away at night, too, so he can get back to his job of making sure no one is going to come in and kill everyone in their sleep.

But sleep. Sleep sounds nice, too. Maybe if he goes to sleep, his antenna will still pick up any noises and wake him up.

As if in punishment for daring to think about sleeping, all the pains become worse, and all he can hear is this horrible ringing sound. Sweat drips down into his eyes and his mouth and under his clothes. It's like there's something inside both his head and his stomach, trying to claw its way out. He haunches over, waiting for it to end.

But it doesn't. It doesn't for a long, long time.

Finally, he's able to lift his head, panting. His vision is blurry, so he barely can see it, but eventually the green numbers on the digital clock come into focus.

2:30 AM

Zim attempts to look at Dib, but instead he finds that he no longer has the strength to even hold himself up. He pitches to the side, smacking his face against the bedside table. A hot, white flash of pain splays out across his skull. He pushes away and lets himself fall against the floor, preferring the mouthful of filthy carpet to the hard, painful fake wood.

Over every pain, he can feel the searing, stinging heat of the wound on his leg. Zim is no longer sure this is so psychological after all.

More doubts about how self-made these pains are brought up when Zim begins coughing up this horrible liquid, only realizing after the taste sits in his mouth for a good while that it is, in fact, his own blood. He doesn't mind that he's coughing it up right under him and its getting all over his face at the moment, or particularly concerned that it's blood he's coughing up

And that's when the convulsions come. Though Zim can't really tell if he is opening his eyes or not, he's fairly certain his vision has gone black. He feels everything, up until the end. Up until he feels his ability to think slipping away, and the horrible gnawing hunger start.

3:30 AM

Zim has his last intelligent thought.

He wonders if that copper taste in his mouth is what human blood tastes like.

Description
Dib watches the last one fall, its blood splattering across the pavement, before putting his rifle down and shutting the window. Zim struggles to stand, and for a moment they're back to when Dib was a kid and just slightly taller than him. But then Dib uses the wall to help him get up from his kneeling position, and he's towering once again.

He doesn't really look at Zim, just turns around and starts walking toward the bed, stretching his back. Zim looks out the window for a moment, wide-eyed. He doesn't know how Dib can see so well in the dark. Zim used to be able to, but his artificial eyes are so worn by now out that he doubts he can see as well as Dib at any time. He notices that the window is unlocked, and without thinking reaches up to lock it, like it would actually help guard against something.

"How was it?"

"Eh?"

"My shooting, how was it?"

"Getting better." It's excellent, probably better than Zim's. Zim, luckily, hasn't gotten much practice, and he doesn't intend to any time soon.

"I didn't know how much I'd gotten the short end of the stick when we agreed that you'd deal with the aliens and I'd deal with the . . . uh, things that used to be humans."

"Nonsense. You need the target practice. Human heads are so tiny and they're always moving around. That's why you're getting so good." Zim quickly realizes what he is saying and adds, "You know, for a human. Besides," he looks at the long stretch of carpet separating him and the wall he's leaning against and the bed, letting out a ragged breath, "I don't know how exactly how well we'll handle anyone from the Empire or the Syndicate if they find us. I'm very amazing, but not that amazing. And you'll be in my way the whole time."

Dib shrugs. "Oh well. At least we can say we tried." He splays himself out on the bed, boots and guns and everything else important still secured on his person, of course. "They're too busy fighting each other, anyway."

Zim attempts to hide his limp as he walks, but ends up having to give that up and simply be thankful he doesn't fall. Dib is looking up at the ceiling and not at him, anyway. And GIR is being good and quietly playing with a soda can in the corner, so he doesn't have to worry about being bowled over or anything. Finally, he plops down, and Minimoose is nuzzling against up against him almost instantly.

Dib rolls over to watch him as he pulls off one boot and carefully slides up his pant leg, hissing as he discovers that fabric has stuck quite horribly to the exposed flesh again. He just stares at it. It seems to be at some stage beyond infection. Where the human-thing's teeth had actually touched is black with a crusty yellow creeping over it, and the flesh that had been exposed after his skin had been torn off is an array of colors, all sickly, all like nothing even Zim has ever seen.

"Wow, Zim, that looks really . . ."

"It's just all germy and stuff," he says, yanking his pant leg back down. When he jams his feet back into his boots, he feels the pus and other excrements from the would that had pooled at the bottom. It's actually a pretty frightening amount, considering that his pant leg is also mildly soaked through. "It's not - Well, you know. I'm not infected or anything."

Dib winces at simply hearing the word. "I know. You said that Irkens can't get infected. I mean, you can, but not to the point where you go crazy like humans. Your immune systems are used to it, right?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

Dib simply looks at him, frowning, until a slight bang sounds outside, sort of like a trash can being toppled over. He almost jumps up, until Zim puts his hand up and they both watch a raccoon scurry across the pavement.

Dib sighs, shaking his head. "You sure you're okay keeping watch while I'm asleep?"

"Of course." Not really. "I'm not as easily frightened by small Earthen mammals as you are." Also a lie. "Besides, all the human-things sleep at night just like you." But Irken and Syndicate soldiers don't.

Zim suspects that Dib knows this, but Dib gives him a reassured smile anyway, and starts burrowing under the covers. When GIR and Minimoose notice this, they both scurry to cuddle with him. The know quite well that their master is not usually in a cuddling mood at night, less so than usual. Much less so.

All three seem to go to sleep instantly, and Zim assumes his usual night watch position. He stares into the pitch black darkness outside, thankful they finally found a place with no street lights. The stupid human-things sometimes stay out if it's lit up enough. He's actually slightly worried about the alarm clock in the room, but he figures they're alright. Besides, he can handle a couple of zombies. It's everything else he can't handle.

"Zim?" If he hadn't been so exhausted, he probably would have jumped up ten feet in the air. It takes him a second to calm down and realize it's Dib that said it.

"What?"

"Why didn't I get infected?"

"I told you, you contracted a mild form from me a long time ago. It built up an immunity in you so when that Irken fleet was stranded here-"

"I know that. But why me?"

"Because you were around me so much. You were always highly susceptible to any illness I may have brought with me from Irk."

"I know, but . . . You know what, never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just being an idiot and thinking there's a bigger picture or maybe even some driving force in the universe again."

"Oh. I thought you said you weren't going to do that anymore."

"Good night, Zim."

Gah, the human acts so funny when he's tired. Zim almost starts thinking he's asleep yet again, until he says,

"Promise you won't go insane and try to eat my throat out in my sleep?"

"Promise." It's very automatic, this promise. Dib's joking, he assumes, but still. He's not infected. That isn't possible. Even if he is, he'll just get a little sick, and it'll pass. There's absolutely no way he'll go crazy like those weak, pitiful humans.

He doesn't even remember why or how so many Irkens and Syndicates got here, just the beginning with the one fleet getting stranded in the middle of nowhere. Some Syndicates came shortly after. And then someone blew his base up, so he blew some ships up and now apparently everyone wants to kill him. People are funny like that.

And Dib. He doesn't know what they'd do to Dib. Probably just shoot him or something. They don't care that he's probably the last real human left in existence or that he had saved him from a pack of human-things all by himself after Zim had escaped from the Irkens or Syndicate - he can't quite remember which at the moment - and was all dizzy and kept passing out and stuff. They won't know that he had killed everyone he used to know, including his paternal unit, because they had tried to "eat his face off," and he likes to joke about it now and would probably make a fine soldier if they managed somehow to get him on their side.

Zim thinks about the other day, just realizing that he can't remember how long ago it was, that they had been completely surrounded. Dib had gotten them out with nothing but the bite on Zim's leg. Adding up all of the times they've been surrounded, Dib has a pretty high success rate.

He realizes far too late that he's started thinking about the bite again. He can't do that or - well, he's already sweating now. And his hand is reaching down to start scratching at it but he promptly yanks both up and folds his arms across his chest. He tries to ignore the sharp pains in his stomach and leg and head, but it's hard without anyone at all awake to distract him.

He doesn't notice the he closed his eyes until he opens them again. He thinks about having to keep watch, but since everything is so dark and closing his eyes feels so much better, he forgets about that, but he manages to raise his eyes to the clock first.

1:15 AM

He closes his eyes again, trying to count to himself as far as he can in all the languages he knows. He's sure all of this is purely psychological, and being distracted is what staves it off during the day. Logically, distraction should make all of this go away at night, too, so he can get back to his job of making sure no one is going to come in and kill everyone in their sleep.

But sleep. Sleep sounds nice, too. Maybe if he goes to sleep, his antenna will still pick up any noises and wake him up.

As if in punishment for daring to think about sleeping, all the pains become worse, and all he can hear is this horrible ringing sound. Sweat drips down into his eyes and his mouth and under his clothes. It's like there's something inside both his head and his stomach, trying to claw its way out. He haunches over, waiting for it to end.

But it doesn't. It doesn't for a long, long time.

Finally, he's able to lift his head, panting. His vision is blurry, so he barely can see it, but eventually the green numbers on the digital clock come into focus.

2:30 AM

Zim attempts to look at Dib, but instead he finds that he no longer has the strength to even hold himself up. He pitches to the side, smacking his face against the bedside table. A hot, white flash of pain splays out across his skull. He pushes away and lets himself fall against the floor, preferring the mouthful of filthy carpet to the hard, painful fake wood.

Over every pain, he can feel the searing, stinging heat of the wound on his leg. Zim is no longer sure this is so psychological after all.

More doubts about how self-made these pains are brought up when Zim begins coughing up this horrible liquid, only realizing after the taste sits in his mouth for a good while that it is, in fact, his own blood. He doesn't mind that he's coughing it up right under him and its getting all over his face at the moment, or particularly concerned that it's blood he's coughing up

And that's when the convulsions come. Though Zim can't really tell if he is opening his eyes or not, he's fairly certain his vision has gone black. He feels everything, up until the end. Up until he feels his ability to think slipping away, and the horrible gnawing hunger start.

3:30 AM

Zim has his last intelligent thought.

He wonders if that copper taste in his mouth is what human blood tastes like.