NEON HEARTS

Dib didn’t particularly want to deal with whatever stupid fucking lecture was waiting for him when he got back into the house so he simply didn’t. He went out to the garage, and got back to work on Tak’s ship, music blaring.

He had some old journals he’d worked on when he was younger, mapping out all the parts of Tak’s ship and his best guesses as to how they functioned, childish diagrams and printed out photos filling in all the gaps he couldn’t figure out. And there were a lot of gaps. Even if he wasn’t going to use it to go to space and save the galaxy or whatever, the ship was about the closest thing Dib would ever get to a car. He still wanted to fix it up, maybe get it’s fucking AI to calm down enough to take it for a ride.

He wouldn’t let himself hope, but it was a near thing. He wanted that independence, the ability to get away. He wanted to see his friends.

Dib remembers, couldn’t ever forget, how it felt to be in space. To see the earth as the little marble outside his window, something he wanted to protect. Something amazing. He may not feel that way anymore, but he wanted to feel it again. The adrenaline, the fear, the awe of it all. Earth could never compare.

He felt more real, more like he belonged in that memory than he ever had on earth.

So yeah, he wanted to fix up Tak’s ship. He was already gonna be stuck at home for a week, so he might as well spend the time he had in the garage. It’s not like the ship put up much of a fight, and Gaz probably didn’t care. Dib very purposefully didn’t think about the professor. He’d stopped thinking about the professor a long time ago.

He doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been out in the garage, but when the garage door opens behind him, it lets in distinctly orange afternoon light. He doesn’t turn around, still elbow deep in weirdly gooey wire-tube things.

“Fuck off, Gaz, I’m not turning it down,” He called over his shoulder.

He expects some snarky quip or to get hit on the back of the head. Instead, a black gloved hand zips out to grab his wrist.

“If you detach those, the combined liquids create a toxic gas.” Zim said, loud enough to be heard over his music. Dib hears him, but doesn’t answer. He’s flexing his hand in Zim’s grasp and looking at the bare green hand holding his wrist.

“Where are your gloves?”

He doesn’t want to care, he’s still pretty bothered by… how the rest of the day has gone. But now that he’s noticed, he can’t stop looking. He can think of the number of times he’s seen Zim’s claws on one hand. The very tips of his claws are painted a bright blue, similar to the blue on his own Tripp pants.

“ZIM doesn’t NEED such primitive coverings any longer!” Zim said, much louder than before, pulling his hand away. “I no longer require my former uniform!”

Dib dropped the tubing gently back into their places and wiped his hands clean on a rag. The few seconds it took to do was enough to get him to not punch Zim then and there. He turned around, leaning against the ship (ignoring it’s immediate objections) to look at Zim.

“Grow out of the dress or something?” He asked, sticking out his foot to click off his music.

“I-” Zim started, but stopped, not quiet looking at him. It only lasted a second before he snapped out of it, standing up a bit straighter. “Zim did grow! I grew all the more powerful in your absence! Dib-human may tremble in fear at any point!”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna do that.” Dib snorted. He looked at Zim, running his eyes over all the glittery little details on him. The necklaces and kandi bracelets and chains and whatnot. He was a lot to take in. “What do you want, man?”

“Perhaps I came to enact some devious plot!” He laughed, hands on his hips. With the outfit and his… height. It was honestly kind of funny.

“Okay but like, for real?”

“Zim came here-! To give you your homework.”

An arm came up out of Zim’s PAK (and Dib wondered for a second, just how much space was in there?) hitting him in the chest with a stack of paper.

“Uh… thanks?” Dib grabbed the stack, flipping through the pages. “I’ve only been out of school for the day. There’s a lot here.”

“This is all of the homework for the week,” Zim shrugged, “and a little extra. Mr. Dennis calls it extra punishment.”

“Fucking. Great.” He rolled his eyes, dropping the whole stack to the side. “Well, you did your job, you can go.”

Dib turned back around, looking back over the inside of the ship. The cords and tubing and completely alien structures were almost comforting at this point. He dove a hand in, feeling for a specific bundle of wires that connect to what he assumes is part of the AI system. He remembered hooking his laptop up to a port nearby when he was a kid, but he can’t remember how. What cord he used, how he made it compatible, how he stopped it from frying his laptop, all a complete mystery. What was he on back them?

He followed the cords back up to the box they were coming out of, feeling around them for the ports around them. When he brushed his fingers over them, he could feel the little paper labels he’d taped around the area, trying to figure out the layout of the insides. The edges seemed to be eroded away on all the labels, probably from the weird goo inside. So, not corrosive enough for short term damage.

He was leaning down to try and read his labels when another head leaned in with him.

“What are you trying to do?” Zim asked him, not quietly, but not as loud as he would have expected from him.

“Trying to remember how I altered the ships artificial intelligence a few years ago.” Maybe he should be a little more reluctant to tell Zim about what he was working on, but it’s not like the alien should care what he does, right?

“Oh. Well, you should have the right section.” Zim nodded, poking at the little box that the cords ran through.

Dib sighed, dropping the wires. “I don’t suppose you know how to do this, do you?”

Zim looked at him, head full on perking up to stare at him.

“Zim knows! As an Irken Invader, I have decades of experience working on Spittle Runners,” He smiled, toothy and sharp. “Even smeets can work them.”

“Fucking… Spittle runners?” Dib sneered. God, and he thought their planet had bad naming senses. “Whatever. You wanna help out, or not?”

He wasn’t expecting a yes or anything, but he didn’t expect Zim to push himself up and out of the guts of the ship, almost falling over his boots again. He turned to ask Zim what exactly he was freaking out about, but actually seeing Zim’s face was… weird. He was still kind of getting used to seeing the other actually emote, so he couldn’t read his face at all. He was just weirdly serious, stone faced almost, like he was actively trying not to react to something. Or like he was really really uncomfortable.

“I- I don’t know.” Zim said, quietly, claws worrying at his arm warmers. “Zim- ZIM MUST GO! TO PLAN DEVIOUS, DEVIOUS PLANS!”

As quickly as he’d come in, Zim was gone, running out of the garage and disappearing through the backyard gate. Fucking… weirdo.

~~~~~

“Dib?”

The professor was knocking on his door. He expected it at some point, but he didn’t want it now. He didn’t want to deal with this. He’s tired from working in the garage all day, he didn’t need this right now.

“Son, we should talk,” His dad kept going, “At least about what happened at school. Resorting to violence-”

That’s about as much as he can take. Dib moved quietly, as quietly as he can all things considered, grabbing his bag and throwing on an actual full sized hoodie. It’s not his first time sneaking out of a bedroom window. He slipped out, holding onto the windows edge and jumping to the tree just that little bit too far from the window to be comfortable. He used to miss that jump all the time when he was younger.

If the professor ignored his locks and came into his room, he wouldn’t have to be there to deal with it.

It was dark, sure, but when was the last time he cared about being out after dark? Dib started walking, not quiet caring where he went. He wanted to smoke.