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It was an old habit - one Dib just couldn’t break.
A distraction, an urge, an itch. It wasn’t every day, but it felt like it was - every day was a bad day when you lived as a freak. Hi-Skool was… it was hard. It called for distraction, for a method of coping, and maybe he had seen something online pointing to this, or he’d been told by a bully and decided to give it a try, or, or…
It didn’t matter where it’d come from, because now it was here like a wound on his heart, a scar on his soul. Something he couldn’t shake. It was a double-edged sword; this habit, this urge, it was an addiction, a menace that soothed him just enough by distracting him. But it wasn’t what he wanted.
He didn’t want to deserve this, though he felt he did. He wanted others to care, though he knew they didn’t. If they saw, they didn’t say anything - and who knew how many saw? His sister, his father, did they see them at home? While his jacket was hanging in his room and his arms were barren… did they see? Did they notice? Did they care? At skool, did anyone, anyone pay them any mind? When he’d rub his wrists impulsively, when he’d roll up his sleeves to wash his hands, when he’d change into his gym clothes - did anybody care?
It hurt more knowing others had to have seen but no one had bothered to care. He’d heard bullies on TV taunt those with this habit, but his never picked on him for it. For some reason, he felt envious that nothing he did could get him the slightest amount of attention. What did he have to do, wave a blade around someone’s face and do the action before their eyes?
What did it matter, he was a freak and he knew he’d never get the care he always wanted. This was what he deserved - a sick fucking punishment for the crime of being born.
Scars fade, but their impact is everlasting. Invisible lines littered his arm, only to be reopened upon a new terrible memory - his father calling him a failure would be overridden by a skool bully beating him up after class. His classmate rolling their eyes at his infodumps would be overridden by a Swollen Eyeball member trashing his report. Failure and ridicule would be overridden by aggression and pain and nothing he could do would stop it.
At some point, a new scar might be made for simply making these scars - if no one would call him an attention whore, a piece of shit, an insane weirdo for this habit, then Dib had to take up the mantle himself.
It was getting worse, and worse, and worse and worse and worse and he just couldn’t stop. Every day he lived as a pathetic freak, and every day he’d live as a worthless son. He’d be beaten, he’d be experimented on, he’d be called slurs - nothing he ever did was good enough. Not to him, not to anyone.
Not even to Zim.
Zim didn’t even see him as an enemy anymore. He was no longer a fucking threat. That was what today’s scar was dedicated to, actually, Dib had decided. He was no longer good enough for the one person he thought was… even a little bit afraid of him.
The alien’s schemes had lessened more and more as they grew older - hi-skool was a brand new start for them, and it seemed like Zim was no longer focused on battles with Dib. Even today he had brushed Dib aside, told him he wasn’t in the mood, and… and he just…
And he just left.
The human curled up on his bed, crying in rage-induced despair - he just left. Like Dib didn’t even… didn’t even matter at all anymore. The tools lay beside him, already wet with the teenager’s agony. He just stared, his knees keeping his head up while he watched his arm weep with him.
What did it even matter.
It was almost beautiful, in some fucked up way. Poetic. He couldn’t… explain how it was, but… it had to be, right? Something about this had to be… good. It just, had to be. Otherwise, why else would he be doing it? His tears had stopped rolling, his expression apathetic as he watched his arm dry. Something here had to be good, or else...
Or else nothing. A dull, distraught chuckle broke through the deafening silence. It was almost mocking, almost condescending to himself. Nothing about this was good, nothing Dib ever did was good. He deserved only the bad, only the suffering, only the pain. The tears welled up again, free hand reaching for the drying blade.
This was all he ever deserved, being cut open and stitched back together like his father intended --
A sound froze his movements, stopping the track on his arm from reaching its full potential. His eyes grew wide as he whipped his head towards the window by his bed, wet brown eyes meeting the inhuman purple of false alien contacts. Dib felt himself tense, his hand shaking as it dropped the tool.
“Zim -” His voice rasped out his name, terror dripping from it. It was like a whisper in a sacred place, a word that wasn’t to be spoken - as soon as he allowed himself to fully register the irken’s presence, his resolve fully shattered.
As he tucked his arm against his chest, a hysterical grin covered his face, the furrow of his brows and tears in his eyes painting his expression to be almost as crazy as his bullies described him as. “What - what are you doing here?” He laughed out - it wasn’t genuine, it was stressed. Scared. Afraid of what was going to come. He’d never been found in the act before, but he’d always imagined what would happen.
It wasn’t hard to imagine, really - disgust would be the biggest response. Self harm was looked down on, it was mocked, it was seen as weak, this was the 2000’s, you don’t do that. He could imagine it now, Zim screaming at him for being disgusting, sneering at him for doing this, making fun of him and telling everyone and having everyone bully him worse. It’d be a self-fulfilling prophecy, he’d get the attention he always wanted, but it wouldn’t… it wouldn't be how he really wanted it.
The irken before him only stared, wide-eyed and without moving. His foot was on the window sill, his clawed glove hanging on the circular glass, and Zim was staying there, frozen mid-motion. He wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t doing anything.
His lack of reaction was worse than the potential one Dib had imagined. A bitter, broken laugh snorted from the human, the grin faltering. Say something. Please! Say something! Dib’s heart raced as his mind pleaded for the irken to do something, anything. It felt like hours were passing in seconds, it felt like the world was stopped and all he could do was die.
God, he wished he had just went for the kill instead of the punishment. Death would have been so much better than all of this.
Time clicked back into motion one rusted cog at a time, and it felt like slow motion watching Zim reach forward, grabbing Dib’s arm, and pulling it towards himself. The human’s grin faded into a grimace, and though his instincts screamed at him to pull his wrist back, to hide what he had done, his nerves wouldn’t listen, his muscles wouldn’t do it, his body felt so ashamed and shocked that it couldn’t bear moving an inch on it’s own.
Alien eyes looked over what Dib had done. They were alien in more ways than one - yes, Zim was from another world, but this was also the first time anyone has… looked. Really looked. Really examined Dib’s work. Like an artist finishing a masterpiece, he felt like he should be proud - but the shame was gripping his throat too tight. The regret overlooked the pride, and the human shut his eyes tight, unable to see what expression Zim had to have had.
He forced on that smile again, letting out a distraught laugh and finally managing to rip his arm away, tucking it against his chest and folding his knees over it - cradling his vulnerability. “S-sorry to, ha, draw some blood before you got the chance,” he tried to joke, tried to play up their rivalry again. He and Zim drew blood all the time during their fights - it was a positive thing, it was fun, maybe that’d get Zim to react in some way. “I, I think I did a pretty good job, though, don’tcha think?”
Zim still didn’t say anything. Why wouldn’t he say something, he’s Zim, he never shuts up! With his eyes closed, the human couldn’t see what his enemy was thinking, what he was doing. But he could feel the weight of the bed shift around him - Dib flinched. But he could hear the window close gently - Dib whimpered. Would Zim kill him for this? For… for trying to do something to ease the whirling pain inside him? For trying to punish himself the way everyone thought he should already? Dib wasn’t doing anything bad, he wasn’t!
“Dib-beast.”
Finally, finally Zim spoke, and it was enough to send a knife through the teenager’s heart. He bit his lip, trying to hold back a whimper as he finally opened his eyes to look up, looking to see what the irken was doing.
The alien was sitting there, hands curled into fists and placed gently on his knees. His bright pink uniform seemed duller in the dim light, but his disguised alien eyes seemed to almost glow through the contacts. His face seemed… angry. Gentle, but mad. His brows were furrowed, his thin, inhuman lips were pulled taut into a straight line, and though his pupils kept darting downwards, each time he managed eye contact, Dib felt like he was being shot.
The human clawed gently at his chest, nails digging into his shirt and pulling at it. Had he not been in the way he was currently, he’d be uncomfortable over Zim being in his room at night without warning - damn, at least warn a guy so he could put on his binder. But he couldn’t focus on that, not right now, not when he was being scrutinized for an addiction he didn’t want other people to know.
He, did want other people to know. But he didn’t. But he did. The contradictions swirled in his mind like an unstable concoction, and all Dib could do was force a broken smile and try to appease Zim enough so he would leave.
“Look, you don’t, you don’t have to be here, y’know. Y-you have other things you could, could do right now. I don’t know, some, scheme or whatever. It, it doesn’t matter, you’ll probably take, take over the world without me anyways. I’m not exactly a w-worthy enemy.” He ended his attempt with a laugh, half-hearted and forced and afraid, but it only served to make the alien look up at him and hold the eye contact.
His eyes were wider than usual, and his mouth slightly hung open. He looked as though he’d been told something awful, and maybe he had. Dib wanted to backtrack, say something to fix his obvious mess up, but before he got a chance- “Do not say such a thing.” - Zim interrupted. The irken lifted a hand, reaching towards the human but only letting it hover nearby. He seemed hesitant, slowly placing it on the bed. “Do not ever say such a thing.”
“I, I -”
The alien’s expression grew darker, more intense, and in Dib’s deluded mindset he could tell the emotion clearly - rage. Panic rose in his chest, and he hugged his form closer.
“You are no unworthy enemy, don’t you dare call yourself that ever again.”
The tone was too harsh, too scolding, and almost on instinct, tears began to well up in the human’s brown eyes. He flinched, clenching his eyes shut as if he was about to be struck, and bit his lip to stave off the whimpers that threatened to finally come out. Dib buried his face against his knee, shaking as his throat clenched up and his limbs quaked. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled out, taking on the appearance of a scared little animal.
The display only made a twinge of guilt burrow heavily into Zim’s heart - spooch, whatever. His expression lightened, turning into clear worry as he brought his hand to his chest. He didn’t mean for that to happen. Thinking hard on what to really say, how to really help, the alien opened his mouth and closed it, many times. What words were there…
“Don’t… please don’t apologize, Dib-thing, Zim did not - Zim did not mean to frighten you! You, you are safe.” Holding out his hand, cautiously reaching, as though for a timid beast, the alien tried his best to elaborate. “You, are a very worthy opponent, please do not think yourself otherwise. May…” His hand touched the human’s knee, gently. “May I see your arm?”
The question, spoken as gentle as the naturally loud, chaotic alien could make it, barely seemed to register. Dib tensed, tightening himself up in his little ball, a small, pitiful cry escaping at the touch. The irken wasn’t sure how to deal with this - many times Gir had helped him through these breakdowns, but he wasn’t Gir. He wasn’t equipped to be on the other side of this hell. Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, Zim patted Dib’s knee cautiously. Comfortingly. Or so he hoped.
It felt like hours before the human moved again, carefully unwinding himself to stretch his arm out to the invader - he refused to lift his gaze, refused to move from the protective coil he had found himself in. It was the only semblance of comfort he could have at this moment, this small cocoon of panic.
Had his wig not been overtop his antennae, Zim would have perked them. He didn’t expect to see Dib’s… handiwork - especially not so willingly. With gentle claws, as if he were cradling a fragile smeet, the irken took Dib’s arm. Lavender eyes looked over the marks, brows furrowed as he looked them over. They weren’t shallow, and they mirrored the alien’s own in his own bouts of depression and blood-letting.
While the irken scrutinized his work, the human could only feel warm, destructive anxiety blossoming throughout his body. It spilled from his heart and to his veins, and it took all his effort to keep his breathing steady - it was an effort made only in vain as panic made his mind race and his chest pound. It was being looked at, he was finally getting the attention he had craved, and it was killing him.
This was his mortal enemy, setting his sights directly on the vulnerability Dib tried so hard to keep quiet. The alien invader who vowed to take over his planet, take over everything he loved - and he was the one to finally notice. It felt like a cruel joke that the universe was playing on him, a cruel irony that he harmed himself to vent about being ignored by Zim only for Zim to be the one to find him and pay him mind.
He felt as though he should be grateful - he got what he wanted, didn’t he? So why did his limbs burn with fear? Why did his brain feel light-headed from the lack of oxygen? Why did it feel like his organs would twist themselves empty at any time now?
A thumb ran over his arm, right beside the opening, and it massaged there. It didn’t hurt, but it did sting, bringing back those feelings of shameful euphoria for only a second. Dib heard a mechanical sound, the sound of a latch opening, and couldn’t help but break the cocoon forming around him, snapping his head up with wide, bleary eyes.
The irken still held onto Dib’s arm, carefully keeping it in place while his free hand was given a bundle of bandages. The blurring of tears and lack-of-glasses made it difficult to see, especially within the dark room, but the human assumed the gauze had come from the little metal backpack from Zim’s back. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to catch onto what Zim was doing, but maybe that meant Dib should learn to dabble in rocket science because he could only stare in horrified confusion. He didn’t understand the purpose - was this some of acidic patch that would melt his skin off? Some sort of robotic parasite to control his body from within? What was the irken doing, what was he planning -
He was planning on stopping the bleeding.
Large, wet brown eyes stared back at the green-skinned invader, watching as he pulled some disinfectant from his PAK and began to clean the arm, tucking the bundle of gauze in his mouth for safe keeping. Dib winced, tugging his arm backwards as chemicals stung against his skin, but the gentle grip Zim previously had tightened so he wouldn’t pull away.
The human, had he not just burnt himself out on a panic attack, would have complained, tried harder, done something to fight what was going on - but as Zim began to clean his wounds, wrapping them firmly in gauze, all energy to fight fled from him. The panic he felt faded into something dull and heartbroken.
The frantic terror that dripped through his veins had cooled into rocks, hard and heavy and sapping him of all energy. The desire to simply curl up and die now outweighed the fear, the paranoia of Zim killing him - if this was poison, he’d gladly welcome it. Dib wrapped a heavy arm around his knees, watching with dull, weeping eyes as Zim finished his dirty work. With the grip lessened, he ripped away his limb to look over the wrapping.
For an alien invader who had more than likely learned how to wrap wounds, he sure did a terrible job.
It looked as though he knew how to start properly, but keeping it secure was… not his strong suit. The previously firmly wrapped gauze began to unravel slightly at the end, falling limp; Dib couldn’t help but let out an exhausted snort.
“Can’t believe the Mighty Invader Zim can’t even wrap gauze right.” He mumbled out, sarcasm dripping from his voice. It was hardly a shock that the alien wasn’t good at some things.
Zim pulled his own knees up to watch the human, grinning softly. “I know, I know, it is a surprise that Zim cannot be perfect at everything.” Placing his chin on his knee, the irken let his smile fall, eyes lowering to the razor. It was dried with Dib’s blood, and a more solemn note hit his voice. “It is less to heal the problem and more of a… comforting thing. Gir can’t wrap gauze well either, but it… makes me feel safer, so Zim hopes it would you as well.”
Dib’s head lifted ever so slightly, eyes darting from arm to the irken’s face. He searched it, brows furrowed intensely - Dib was no idiot, he could tell when someone is trying to confess a shared problem. He just… didn’t believe that was the case. “What exactly, do you mean? You… you do this too?”
It was tactless, he knew it was tactless, but the intense tiredness that shattered through his bones made him not care. Zim had broken into his room and interrupted his self harming session, he was allowed to be tactless. The irken didn’t seem to mind the brashness, just going quiet for a long moment before lifting his head and looking out the window. Dib’s eyes followed.
It was night - Dib tended to do this at night. It was safer, quieter - Membrane wasn’t one to bust into his room during the night, all of his experimenting took place during the day, and Gaz usually hid away in her room, dealing with her own things. It was safe.
But the nighttime was also beautiful, he noted.. It’d been a while since Dib let himself take in the night sky. It was dark, mysterious, splashed with faint colors here and there and freckled with white stars all around. The moon, too, was gorgeous. It took a moment of looking in order to see it’s beauty - smog and pollution always made it seem so dim, but if you look for long enough, the outline of the cosmos paves its way before you.
“Life is difficult.” Zim’s voice cut through the quiet, but it was soft. Soothing. It didn’t so much cut as it flowed through the air, matching the quiet of night. “Sometimes, too difficult for me to bother trying.” A gloved hand tugged lightly at a drooping antennae. Dib had seen the gesture a few times before, one of frustration or, in this case, intense sorrow. “So Zim does exactly what you are doing now.”
Silence settled between them, nestling comfortably in the dark. It wasn’t expected; to learn that Zim did this too. It didn’t seem to fit him, not really - he was so boisterous. Loud. He acted as if nothing in the world, nothing in the universe could faze him!
… but Zim was in the same boat as him.
Bullied and ostracized at skool. Abused and neglected by people who are meant to care about him/ Made to feel useless, worthless - they were two sides of the same coin.
The human let his gaze drift to the irken, his arm cradling to his chest. “Why…?”
Dib had a million reasons why he did what he did. As punishment, as a high, as an attempt to feel, as an attempt to stop feeling - contradictions upon contradictions built to justify what he was doing. To do harm, to feel better. To heal, to hurt. Every reason in the world, the human had made up, but if you asked him why he really did it -
“I don’t know.”
He’d have the same answer.
Zim pulled off his glove, letting his bare, irken skin shine in the dull moonlight. It was rare he ever took off his gloves, so rare that Dib had to force himself to not examine or study the foreign limbs. No scar laid on his pale green flesh, no wound or proof of what injuries the irken had made.
“Every reason is just… an excuse.” He clenched his fist, watching as his skin pulled taut around his wrist, before releasing it. “If Zim wishes to stop, a new excuse forms. Sometimes it is an old excuse. Sometimes, Zim doesn’t even think.” He lifted his gaze, slipping his glove back on and looking up to Dib’s eyes. “What about you? What is your reason?”
For a second, the human opened his mouth, his pile of reasons trying to slip out at once. Until he realized that they were the same. Just… excuses.
Human eyes turned to his arm, the hastily but carefully bandaged wound. It burned ever so slightly, aching over being seen. It felt like a surgical scar being examined by a mad scientist - invasive. Like it was never meant to exist, never meant to be there.
He clenched his fist, wincing at how his skin pulled taut around the still open wound. When he released, rather than relief, he felt only more of that invasive sting. It didn’t feel as positive as he had made it out before. It only felt like a punishment, one he didn’t really want to receive.
“I, I don’t… know.” A sad, pathetic, empty laugh accompanied his answer. “It, none of them really… make sense, now that I think about it.”
He felt alien eyes on his face, but refused to look up, boring his own sights on the faltering bandages. “A punishment, I guess, but… why would I want to be punished when everyone does that enough as is? And-and, to feel could be a reason, but…” Lowering his arm into the bed, he looked up to meet those glowing contacts. “All I feel is… not great. I don’t want to feel this.”
“Nothing I think of - no reason I think of matters, or works! The only one that worked is for attention, and - no one but you has ever noticed, and you had to break into my room to see!” Tucking his face into his knees, Dib let out a drawn out, broken sigh.
“It’s… barely an outlet. It sucks as a punishment. I don’t get attention for it - what… even is the point? All I have are bullshit excuses and stupid justifications.”
Zim was quiet, nodding along, letting his eyes sink into the bed as he scratched absently at his own arm. “… ‘Bullshit’ is one of those, ehh… swears, correct?” His voice was quiet, almost as if he were trying to not interrupt the subject with his innocent question.
“Mhm. It’s like, uh… y’know cows? It’s like a cowpie. It means… hmm…” Chewing his lip, Dib considered his explanation. “When something is super dumb or, like, I dunno, made up and lame, I guess? That’s bullshit. You say it when things are unfair or stupid and you’re mad.”
The irken nodded. “Then Zim agrees. Those excuses are, in fact, bullshit.”
For a second, Dib wasn’t sure how to respond - it clicked for the first time ever how terrible his reasoning was. Something about how innocent Zim’s agreement was, and how simple of a response that was, made the human laugh. He was right. It was all bullshit.
With a big snort, a small chuckle hidden underneath his hand, and an incredulous shake of his head, Dib smiled - a real smile - up at Zim. “Honestly? Yeah, you’re right. It is bullshit. Every excuse I made was stupid, and dumb, and not… helpful.”
The smile faltered, dropping from his expression within seconds. “But…”
“But you don’t know what else to do?” The human nodded, thankful that Zim seemed to, against all odds, understand. Holding out his hand, the irken continued, resting it palm-up on Dib’s knee. “Why don’t we try and figure something out.”
With furrowed brows and a confused glance down at the hand, Dib tilted his head. He tentatively touched his fingers to Zim’s, noting how smooth the alien’s glove felt. Fingers curled around his hand and pulled it closer to the alien. Zim tilted their hands, pointing them vertically, and then gave an awkward shake, as if they had both made a deal of some sort.
“Then it’s settled.”
“What’s - what’s settled -”
“We help each other find what else to do.” A bright grin made of pinkish zipper teeth broke through the darkness. “If you and Zim both search for a way to cope, surely we can find one at some point. Until then, we shall make a pact. If the urge arises, and we are conscious of it, we seek each other out.”
The optimism was met with a skeptical eye. Dib looked down at their hands, then up at Zim. “Seek… each other out?”
Squeezing the human’s hand tight, Zim nodded, his grin turning devilish. “Of course. After all, we cannot cause ourselves wounds if the other is beating us to it!” It was such a devious statement - to an outsider, this seemed more of a threat than anything.
But Dib was no outsider. It was a promise; a promise for them to both, in some way, stay important to each other. A special way for them to stay safe. Let’s face it, the two of them would never harm to kill - not anymore.
With a challenging smile and a mischievous look to his eyes, the human squeezed back, shaking their hands once to secure the pact. “You’re on, spacebug.”