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Hope	By : LadyNephero Category: +G through L > Invader Zim > AU/AR-Alternate Universe-Alternate Reality Views: 1600 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Invader Zim, nor do I make any money from this work.

Chapter List
- 6
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- 8
To say things were uneasy was an understatement. Even if Dib had promised to be civil, too often the sheer callous personality of the resident alien threatened to destroy the delicate truce. Dib had to constantly remind himself that he was, in fact, a guest in what, if what Gaz had said was true, was mostly Zim’s house. That was a hard pill to swallow, especially when Zim insisted on being a complete asshole just for the sake of laughing at Dib when he got flustered. But Gaz had been right. Zim didn’t lord his ownership over either of them. It was as if the idea of owning a house was nonexistent to the alien, like he could really care less that he had sunk what had been a good deal of money into property. It was as if the house simply existed for the sole purpose to exist, and had no other value.
                That wasn’t even the weirdest thing about Zim. Dib wished he had given Gaz more notice prior to his arrival, so maybe she would have had a chance to warn him, but as it stood now she only shrugged and told him it was his own fault. Which was none too comforting when he walked into the kitchen the following morning, his nose still sore and his skin nicely bruised, to see every available counter space had been overtaken by cooling racks and mixing bowls.
                Zim was moving around like a whirlwind, his hair in disarray and coated in a thin layer of flour. Dib had to do a double-take. He looked considerably less green this morning, and when he grabbed another few eggs, Dib was struck once more by the oddness of his hands. He had thought there had been only two fingers before—that much hadn’t changed. But now the fingers looked thinner, and he saw two stubs where the middle and ring fingers might have been on a person. Before Dib had any chance to figure out the sudden overnight change, Zim whirled on him and fixed him with a cool, violet stare.
                “You. Sit.” He commanded, pointing at the only empty chair in the kitchen.
                “What’re you doing?” It took all of Dib’s willpower not to immediately delve into conspiracy theories as he saw the multitudes of cakes and cupcakes strewn about, his mind automatically flooded with images of alien spores or eggs or…
                “Testing. ‘Line’s still sleeping, so you get to be the first to try out my latest INGENIOUS concoctions.”
                “Uh, listen, thanks, but I really don’t—“
                “What part of that even sounded like I was asking, stinkbag? I said, sit down.”
                Scowling heavily, Dib finally sat. Even before his rear touched the surface of the seat, Zim was shoving a plate in his hand. Dib looked down at the cupcake, and honestly, for a moment his common sense warred with his stomach. The pastry looked surprisingly good, and a quick touch to the wrapper belied how soft and fluffy it was. He immediately salivated, and had to swallow to keep himself from drooling like a beast.
                “Eat it,” Zim commanded, and immediately Dib was on edge.
                “You didn’t… put something in it, did you?”
                “Of course I put something in it! What do you think it’s made of, air? Stop squeezing it, already, you ARE RUINING IT.”
                “No, I mean… there’s no… alien goo or mind-control chemical or poison or…”
                Zim stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing until they were little more than slits.
                “You want to live? Eat the fucking cupcake.”
                Deciding that his sister would likely avenge anything horrible that happened to him (after laughing her ass off of course), Dib bit the bullet. Or, in this case, the pastry. He blinked when he didn’t immediately taste something off, but that did nothing to alleviate his paranoia. If nothing else, it made him even more paranoid, especially with how Zim was staring so intently at him like he was waiting for something to happen.
                The cake was, surprisingly, good. The cake portion was soft and still had some residual warmth to it, and as he took another bite he noticed the subtle orange flavor. The icing was a bit thick, the citrus stronger there to the point where it was overwhelming, and he made a face. He regretted that instantly, as Zim was right in his face and hissing like an angry tomcat.
                “What? What is it?”
                “I… nothing, nothing, just—“
                “DO NOT LIE TO ZIM. WHAT IS IT?”
                “The icing, okay? Jesus Christ, what do you even want me to—“
                “What about the icing?”
                “It’s… it’s sweet as hell. What did you use, a whole grove of oranges on this thing?”
                Zim’s eyes narrowed again, and he snatched up what remained of the cupcake and popped it into his mouth. After a moment of thoughtful chewing, he snorted.
                “It tastes fine. You’re simply trying to piss me off—“
                “I was not, it’s goddamn sweet! You wanted my opinion, there it is! Get off my back!”
                “YOU’RE LYING!”
                “I AM NOT!”
                Zim pulled back, his mouth pulled down into an ugly scowl. He marched over to the counter where a tray of similarly decorated cupcakes were, and he took a bite out of another one. This time, however, he seemed to be taking his time, staring up at a point in the ceiling as he slowly masticated the pastry to death. His frown only deepened the longer he seemed to ponder.
                “Your human taste buds are pathetically sensitive. How are you expected to get any form of energy if you can’t stomach the foods?”
                “Well, for one thing, we don’t get our nutrition from a vat of sugar—why am I even telling you this? I’m done,” Dib started to rise from his seat, but he had woefully underestimated the speed at which Zim could move, the alien shoving him right back into his chair.
                “You are not ‘done,’ boy. You still have exactly fourteen more samples to go, and you are not leaving this kitchen until you do.”
                “You can’t actually MAKE me—“ Dib began, his voice lowering to a growl only to be cut off by what he could only describe as a thoroughly withering stare. Given that there was a soft yet incredibly threatening clicking noise coming from the alien before him, he decided that it was thoroughly in his best interests to shut his mouth right that instant and just do as he was told.
                Once Zim was satisfied that Dib was no longer a flight risk, he turned to his arrangement of cupcakes and selected one from the second batch. He set it down in front of Dib, along with a clean fork and a tall glass of some citrusy drink.
                “What’s this?” Dib asked, deliberately picking up the glass so Zim wouldn’t throw another bitch fit.
                “Palate cleanser. Take a sip and then eat.” Dib had to stop and stare for a moment, somehow wondering just what Zim knew about palate cleansers before he took a slow sip. The drink was surprisingly good, but as he lingered on it, Zim started making that angry clicking noise again and he forced himself to set the drink down again. He picked up his fork, peeling off the paper of the cupcake—it looked chocolate this time—and scooping up a bite.
                At first, he thought it really was just chocolate. Given, it was really GOOD chocolate, but somehow he wasn’t expecting something so… simple. It was only after he had swallowed his bite that he caught the aftertaste. Dib blinked, and took another experimental bite.
                “Cheyenne, is what it is.” Zim supplied, and Dib’s eyebrows rose. He took a third forkful, and this time, he recognized the muted burn. Zim was grinning from ear to ear when Dib finally finished the sample, reaching for his glass and washing down the cupcake with another long swig. “Genius, no?”
                “It’s good, I guess, I mean, I heard of people mixing chocolate and pepper, but—“ Dib snapped his mouth closed when Zim’s grin disappeared, his scowl back in place. The alien snatched up his plate and fork with an angry hiss, throwing the offending dishware into the sink with a loud crash. “What? I said it was good!”
                “Like you’d even know what ‘good’ was if it bit you in your DISGUSTING ass!” Zim shouted back, his lips drawn back in a full snarl that exposed his bizarrely sharpened teeth. Dib felt his face flush in fury, his fists balling to the point where he thought his fingers might actually snap under pressure.
                Promise to be civil or not, there was no way he was just sitting there while a space alien insulted him. He slammed his hands down on the table, rattling the glass and very nearly knocking it to the floor.
                “Listen up, you nasty piece of space dust, I don’t have to take any of this shit from you! You want a guinea pig for your crap cooking, you can find someone else!” Dib stood up from the table then, turning his back on Zim in order to storm out of the kitchen as loudly as possible.
               His first mistake, possibly, was insulting the alien prior to turning his back on him. His second mistake was, obviously, actually turning his back on Zim. The third mistake was waiting until Zim was within range of projectiles before insulting him and then turning his back on him. Either way, he really should have seen Zim’s reaction coming. But he had been so mad, so damn mad, I mean, who the hell asks for help taste testing something, asking for critique, and then gets super pissed off when you mention something’s just slightly wrong? Or not even wrong, but just good? It was ridiculous, all of it was ridiculous—
                And then the entirety of a carefully crafted, layered red velvet cake complete with white chocolate shavings collided with the back of Dib’s head and neck. Dib froze in place, his spine tensing as he felt the goopy frosting slide down his hair and underneath the collar of his shirt. Slowly, he turned around to stare at Zim, who looked nothing short of livid. His face was flushed, a dark tinge taking over his already greenish face, making him look like one of those old Looney Tunes cartoons where the character gets seasick.
                If Dib wasn’t so damn mad, he might have laughed. Instead, he grit his teeth to where he could have sworn a molar cracked, bent down to scoop the cake off of the floor, and promptly pelted it at Zim’s stupid face.
                Really, it should have been obvious what Dib was doing when he bent over. But Zim just stood there, seething and hissing and clicking and he didn’t even move—as if he hadn’t expected Dib to DARE—and then a glob of icing and red velvet hit him square in the face. His mouth opened in a comical “O” shape, his hands up and fingers spread as if he couldn’t quite believe that he had just been smacked in the face by a dessert.
                Dib was panting, his vision completely focused on Zim and nothing else. Somewhere in the back of his admittedly oversized head, he knew he was being thoroughly irrational. No action he was taking would lead to anything good, but at the moment, he just could not care. He dropped down to scoop up more cake, wadding it up into a sticky sugarball and sending it flying across the kitchen.
                Zim was just wiping off the worst of the cake plastered to his face when he got smacked a second time. However, instead of standing there in shock, he let out a loud growl and whirled around for more pastries. Grabbing a handful of cupcakes—sadly, the admittedly delicious chocolate-pepper ones—he twisted around and let them fly. His aim was deadly accurate, each cake slamming into the exact same space on Dib’s forehead as the last.
                Out of ammo, Dib had no choice then but to charge across the kitchen. Zim let out a shriek at that, leaping up onto the countertops and running across what had to be a dozen more cupcakes in an effort to get away from the taller human. Still, longer legs did have their advantage, and Dib caught up all too easily. He grabbed the still-shrieking alien around the waist, twisting and throwing him to the messy floor. Away from his sugary ammunition, Zim was forced to run for the kitchen table, flipping it onto its side just as Dib started pelting the orange cupcakes at him. They splattered harmlessly on the table’s surface, and what few flew past him, Zim rushed to grab back up and return fire.
                The entire time, Zim was still screeching, his words nothing but sharp hisses and clicks and unintelligible syllables, and Dib thought he recognized some of the insults (did Zim really just call him a pig fucker?). A cupcake smacked Dib in the face, coating his glasses and blinding him just as he let another cake loose. There was a telltale smack, and Dib gave a barking victory laugh.
                The silence that replied, however, shut him up quick. He rubbed the cake off of his glasses as best he could, squinting through a smear of frosting at just what had shut Zim up. All the blood that had been thundering in his ears immediately disappeared—Dib was certain that he had paled to the point of being translucent, his eyes wide as he stared at his sister.
                His sister, who was standing in the kitchen archway.
                His sister, who was slowly pushing the cupcake remnants out of her bangs.
                His sister, who had nothing short of murder in her eyes.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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