Invader Zim FF - Family Tree

DISCLAIMER: I do not, nor hope to, own Jhonen Vasquez's awesome show called Invader Zim. I do/will not profit from this story, yadda yadda.. Do not own Zim, nor Dib. I do own Ms. Swallows, and Mike.

Kinda-prequel. Really supposed to be a oneshot, but it's really long, so..

Oh, yeah, I forgot: DON'T LIKE SLASH, DON'T READ. There's really not all that much slash in this one, but it's a kinda-prequel to another slash story.

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Zim looked down at the white paper that his Child Development teacher, Ms. Swallows, passed to him. It was blank.

"Ms. Stuffts-Things-Into-Her-Gullet-and-Sucks-Them-Down-Through-Her-Esophagus-Into-Her-Stomach, why have you given me this sliced tree?" Zim questioned, jabbing his pointer-claw on the paper.

Three rows over and four rows up, a boy dressed in black and blue with jet-black hair stiffened his in seat. He had this class as well? He hadn't seen him since last year. Dib started to bang his head on his desk. Slowly. Methodically. Hard.

"Zim, didn't you read the board when you came in?" Ms. Swallows asked in a sweet, sultry voice, taking her seat on top of her desk and crossing her legs for the boys to drool at. The many, many boys in her class obeyed the silent command.

"Er--yes, yes, of course I did," Zim lied, quite obviously, as he quickly scanned the white-board in the front of the classroom.

Ms. Swallows' Class Hr. 1 Career and Life Planning
- Get seated
- Family Tree papers
- Private "Interviews"
- Get the hell out of my classroom

Dib quirked an eyebrow at the third topic on the board; "Interviews"?

Zim, however, had musings of his own--which he voiced aloud. Very aloud.

"FAMILY TREE? We will grow TREES of FAMILIES and--"

"Zim!" Ms. Swallows yelled, annoyed at being distracted from the boy in the front row licking her shiny leather boots seductively. "Stop yelling--" Her eyes un-narrowed, and her voice resumed to be its previous honey-sweet tone. "--and come sit here, in the front row." She smiled mischievously.

"Er.. Ms. Swallows.." A boy in the front row swept his hand down the row, showing the sex-crazed dominatrix--did I say that? I meant teacher--that the front row was completely filled with love-sick boys. Ms. Swallows was not miffed.

"Sit in the second, there's a good boy." She snapped her fingers, and the boy, who shall be named Mike, continued the licking.

Zim narrowed his eyes; she dare to refer to him as a boy, a human boy, when he was a superior Irken Invader? He opened his mouth to tell her as much--

"You gonna tell her you're not a filthy human boy, but SUPERIOR ZIM?!" Dib's voice changed at the last two words to mimic Zim's way of proclaiming random things. The other boys--and some.. er.. homo/bisexual females--ignored Dib's totally random outburst and continued drawing their own fucked-up family trees. Dib hadn't even turned around.

The alien jerked, staring at the back of the Dib-stink's partially-shaved head. How in the names of the ALMIGHTY TALLEST did he miss the annoying human that had been trying to stop/kill/capture/reveal Zim for the past four years when he walked into the classroom?

"Zim!" Ms. Swallows crossed her arms, staring at him pointedly.

Zim hmph'd, gathered up his stuff--binder, pencil case, paper--and proceeded to the second row. He groaned when he realized the only unoccupied seats were on either side of Dib--even in Hi Skool, the paranormally-paranoid person was avoided like the plague (whoa, alliterations). Zim hovered near the chair on Dib's left, Dib himself not looking at him.

"Zim, sit," ordered Ms. Swallows, smiling when Zim did as told. She loved it when she was obeyed. Idly, she kicked Mike in the head and held out her other boot. He complied eagerly.

Dib glanced over at the newcomer just in time to see Zim open his mouth to object to this dominating behavior, and quickly slapped his left had over Zim's mouth. Zim stiffened, glaring at Dib over the hand. Dib did not remove his hand.

"Don't you know what she does to the students who don't obey her?"

Zim didn't respond in any way, besides twitching.

"She's a fucking dominatrix, Zim! She'll whip you and chain you up to a wall and torture you, regardless of gender!"

Zim did not look disturbed at all in the face of this information, but kept twitching. And for some reason, he did not force Dib's hand from his face.

"Now, shut up and don't bother me, unless you want to be practically raped. ¿Comprende?"

The green 'human' stayed silent. Dib was going to question whether he knew Spanish or not before--

"AAAAAHHHHHH!!"

"Mr. Lastnamehere! Be quiet and work or I'll 'interview' you early," Ms. Swallows threatened, her head thrown back in laziness, eyes closed.

Dib just screamed again and held out a hand dripping with a thick, pink substance.

"He covered me in alien sperm! Oh my non-existant god, I think he impregnated me!"

The so-called impregnator frowned; he did not give his life-making juiced to Dib--it was merely spittle. Where Dib got the notion he--HE!--was trying to put his life-making juices to make Dib pregnant, Zim did not know. Besides, he was the ALMIGHT ZIM, the stink-beast should be FLATTERED. However, Zim did not feel the need to tell his enemy the truth. It was.. how did humans put it?.. entertaining.

"Dib M. Lastnamehere, I will impregnate you unless you shut your button-hole right.." The teacher opened one eyes. ".. now."

Dib gulped, eyeing the door on the far left of the room. His father had told him about this room in a dreamy, far-away voice, clasping his hands to his chest. Dib didn't sleep at all that night. So Dib extracted a plastic bag from one of this trench coats' main pockets, and gently began sliding off the goo into the bag. After finally wiping the excess muck onto his pants, Dib M. Lastnamehere slapped the inching green hand from off of his partially-scribbled on paper.

"Don't take my paper, you--you--you baby-making freak!"

Zim, who had indeed been attempting to steal Dib's paper glared at him, wanted to yell at the inferior bastard. He didn't though, so as not infer the wrath of Ms. Swallows.

A bit of spit sat on his upper lip, and Dib had the sudden urge to wipe it off. Instead, he muttered, "What do you want, rapist? By the way, you have spit on your lip." Upon closer inspection, Dib realized that the area around Zim's mouth was a dark green, in the shape of a handprint.

"Whoa, Zim, what's with your mouth?" Dib's light brown eyes widened, and his voice grew eager. "Did your impregnation backfire? Are you aller--" Dib stopped, suddenly understanding the twitching. "You're allergic to sweat, aren't you?"

Zim finally spoke. "LI--"

"Zim! Last chance!"

"--ar!" Zim finished in a whisper-scream. He swiped at his mouth consciously, then clenched his fists. "You dare to--"

"It makes sense," Dib said aloud, leaning his head on his right hand, draping his left arm over his chair, still looking at Zim's mouth. He hadn't even heard Zim, nor Ms. Swallows'  last warning, too busy ponder sweat-allergies. "I was holding my pencil all morning.. and sweat is aytch-two-oh-based.. yeah.."

"Dib-human," growled Zim between gritted teeth. "Tell Zim what a family tree is." He banged his right fist on the table to reinforce the order.

Dib, startled out of his reverie, blinked at Zim. "Why are you taking this class anyway, Zim? And I bet even your alien species knows what a family tree is."

"For your filthy in-for-mation," Zim sneered haughtily, "I am a normal Skool-child, wanting to know about how to plan my life after my Edukation has been terminated."

"Riiight.." Dib began sketching out the remaining half of his family tree--his mother's.

"And let's just say that my disgusting human family knows nothing of family trees."

"What makes you think I'll help you, let alone believe you?" Wasn't there a batty old bitch that was his mom's mom's sister? Dib couldn't remember.

"Hmm.." Zim tapped the edge of what could be called his chin with one pointy, claw-like finger. "I need to pass this class so--uhh.. so I can get a good Edukation, and, uhh.." The alien bit his tongue in thought, the edge of it poking out.

Dib, who had glanced up at Zim when he had nearly revealed his plans, stared in fascination at the thin red thing between Zim's 'lips'. It was ringed in black, round, and pointed at the tip. It actually looked a bit like a worm. Dib contemplated pulling a Young-Dib stunt and shouting that he hand proof of Zim's non-earthiness, if they looked at his tongue, looked, only really looked--

He sighed and laid his mechanical pencil on his desk and scrubbed at his face tiredly. No, that wouldn't do much besides have him be branded as crazy all over again.. and have him be "interviewed" early, whatever that meant.

"Fine, Zim, whatever," muttered Dib, interrupting Zim's thought process.

"So you will help the Zim?"

"Yes, I will help 'the Zim.'" What do you need to know?" The black-haired boy picked up his pencil again.

Zim's eyes glinted. "Everything."

Dib frowned, about to tell Zim--

"Class, since it's the first day of school, and you all have short classes today.." Ms. Swallows glanced at the boy still licking her boots, and he scrambled back to his front row seat. "..your interviews will be held tomorrow. Finish up your family trees and talk amongst yourselves. Now.." She casted an almost evil smile over the heads of the many boys--and various girls--in her class. "Who would like to help me, ah, set up my office?"

Several boys, and one girl, shot up their hands. Ms. Swallows jiggled her leg in thought, then snapped at the single girl. "You. I haven't had soft skin in a while.." The girl only smiled nervously and followed Ms. Swallows to the sound-proof office. Dib hung his heads in his hands.

"Whyyyyyy this claaaaaassss?" he moaned.

"Dib-stink! Stop your pathetic whining and help Zim!"

Dib only moaned louder. Zim, fed up with how long this story was taking for it being only a kinda-oneshot, just snatched up Dib's paper and regarded it critically.

Dib's paper was neat and organized, with a few boxes, circles, and various marked lines in the middle.

"Dib-stink, tell Zim what this wicked-looking symbol means." Zim tapped one claw on the paper, indicating a red X symbol that had slashes through the arms.

"Huh? Oh.. uhm.. that means that person committed suicide." Dib scratched at the back of his neck absent-mindedly; Zim was pointing at his grandfather's box.

"Person? Zim thought this was a tree."

"No Zim," Dib sighed. "See? That's my grandfather you're pointing at." The X'd-out blue box had inside of it the number seventy and the name Grey M.

"The blue box means he's male, the number in the box means he was seventy when he killed himself, and his name was Grey Matter Crain. Question marks if you don't know how old they are or were."

Zim nodded, his eyes half-lidded as though he was sleepy. "And the purple circles?"

"Females," Dib supplied, tapping his pencil on his grandmother's circle. There was no X, suicide or otherwise, crossing it out; she as alive. Crazy, insane, and cruel, but alive. Dib couldn't remember her name, or how old she was, though.

"Regular X's mean they're dead of natural causes--" The boy moved his pencil over to a circle that branched off of the line between Grey M.'s and ?'s spots, and tapped it. It, too, had a question mark and no name. He then moved his pencil to the right and hit the blue box there, saying, "That's my dad, son of Grey and whoever, brother of Ican'tremember." Inside of the box was a question mark and the name Professor Membrane H. Crain.

Zim pointed at the lowest blue box. "Sixteen, Dib M. Lastnamehere.." he muttered, then slid his claw up the right side of the paper. "Red x red x red x.. Dib-human, what is this part of the 'tree?'"

Dib pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation and anger; he did not enjoy talking about his mother, nor anything related to her. Quickly, he took the paper from under Zim's hand and crammed it under his (black) binder, ignoring Zim's angrily puzzled look.

"Di--!"

"So anyway, let's start on yours," Dib interrupted, waving his penci at Zim's own printer paper. Zim narrowed one eye at the boy sitting next to him, then nodded.

"Yes, human, let's."

They sat there for a minute, Dib chewing on the pencil's twistable eraser and studying Zim's paper; and Zim, staring down at the desk.

"Now--"

"So--"

"..." Zim drummed his fingers on the desk in a very human-like way; Dib's eyes flickered over from the paper to Zim's claws, noting that, over the four years that Zim had been on Earth, he had picked up a few human habits along the way. He wondered idly whether or not Zim knew that he was adapting to human life, albeit unknowingly.

"Now.." started Zim slowly, to make sure they didn't speak at the same time again. "All I do is make these little.. shapes that illustrate male and female kin, and make lines between them that..?"

"That show if they're married, divorced, adopted, siblings, or half-siblings." Dib drew the various symbols at the bottom of the paper with his left hand, leaning close to Zim unconsciously. Zim didn't notice, intent on learning how to make this meaningless family tree. He, too, leaned in toward the paper, Dib's scythe-lock nearly brushing his wig.

"I think you can choose between including your grandparents' part of the tree, and just doing your parents. Dunno.. not sure," Dib continued, and outlined two shapes near the top of the page--a box and a circle, to help start Zim off. "Got it?"

Zim nodded and lifted his own pencil. Dib returned to putting the finishing touches on his paper; coloring the rest of the shapes and lines, really, and turning in it, was all that needed to be done.

After a few silent moments, Zim lowered his eyes and slowly put down his pencil. "What if you don't have a family tree?.." he whispered so quietly Dib almost didn't hear him.

Dib swung towards Zim so quickly he almost fell off his seat in his haste. "You what?!" He was beyond excited now: this was as good as Zim broadcasting live on international television that he was not a human, but an invading alien from outer space! Dib whipped out a hand-held tape recorder and pressed down the 'Play' button with his thumb. Forgetting entirely about his paper and the fact that the bell was about to ring in approximately seven minutes, he leaned forward again, shoving his glasses up his nose with his right index finger. "Say what?!"

Zim frowned, as Dib was entirely too close for comfort, which made Zim notice things about Dib that he hadn't before: his large, light brown eyes; how pale his skin was--what did human skin really feel like? he wondered--especially under the Skool's fluorescent lights. This, specifically, made him notice the dark circles under Dib's eyes, partially hidden by the large glasses the Dib-stink always wore. Without thinking, Zim reached out and poked at the dark skin.

"Hey! Whatthefuck are you doing?!" Dib slapped the hand away.

Hmm, Zim thought, cradling the offended hand with his other one. It's soft, squishy. Warm, too, from the blood or something. Sun-warmed. He frowned again. No, not sun-warmed. Sun-warmed people tended to have darker, tanner skin, which Dib definitely did not have.

"Yo Zim, Earth to Zim, come in Zim," teased Dib, snapping his fingers in front of Zim's glazed eyes. Dib laughed, somewhat meanly, as Zim blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Dib-human, you are sick?"

Dib's laughter died down.

"You are vulnerable, then! Zim will take advantage of this!"

"What!?" Dib was outraged that Zim could be so cruel. "I'm not sick! I'm just tired!"

"..Well then," the alien sighed dramatically. "You are not sick, but merely tired. I'm sure I can find a way to use this to my advantage."

Dib was furious. "There is no advantage! Why haven't you given up yet, huh?! What is it about humans that makes you stay here!?"

At that, Zim stood up, seething. "And what about you!? Are you any different than Zim? You keep protecting these filthy, di-i-i-is-gusting humans from invasion, but you are still deemed an outcast, nothing more! Give up on them, Dib-stink! They make you ill, hurt you, cast you down!"

The class was professionally ignoring them. Years of having Dib and Zim as classmates had made them all but deaf to their yells.

Dib stood up as well, about to throw a punch at Zim..

The bell rang.

The kids filed out. The only ones left were Zim, Dib, Ms. Swallows, and the unfortunate [or fortunate, depending on how you looked at it] girl.

Dib stood, poised to throw his punch, and Zim looked on coolly, emotionally detached from the situation. Finally, after a second, Dib lowered his fist.

"I was up late last night, okay?"

Zim raised the Irken equivalent of an eyebrow. "And I have a human family that loves me and raised me to 'hug trees.'"

Dib laughed, breaking the tension. "Fuckin' tree-huggers. Even I'm not that crazy."

Zim gathered up his stuff, intent on getting to his next class. "Sure you are, Dib-human. You just don't know how good crazy can be."

"Wha..?"

But before Dib could get an answer, Zim had left.