#unfinished part of my unuploaded fic. eat

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Fourteen!

Skoodge leans himself forward, sitting as upright as he can, and yanks his antennae, slaps his cheeks, and motivationally whispers "Pull yourself together. you're an Invader, for Spork's sake!" to himself. "You're not at the end of your line just yet." Irkens do not have breakdowns. Invaders do not have breakdowns. Especially not in hot wired ships in empty parking lots in the middle of the night. He's going to make it through this, by golly! Tallest as his witness!

… Except…

… His Tallest are dead, aren't they…?

Is there… anything, left for him? Is there no one around to bear witness to him push forward?

With the current state of the Empire…

Is there any reason for him to even try?

He pinches at his neck. Rolling the metal chip underneath his skin between his index and his thumb.

There should be. There is.

The last time Skoodge remembers being happy was…

“I made it! I’m alive!”

Hobo-13.

He slumps back into his seat.

Why? What sense does that make?

He almost died. Again.

All because he was on Zim's team. Why would anyone be happy about that? No one in the known universe would be happy to see Zim, to be near Zim, to have Zim treat him the exact same way he used to back when –

"Oh, that’s. That makes sense."

Zim was treating Skoodge exactly how he did back when they were training to be Invaders.

Using him as bait, pushing and shoving, the teasing and taunting. That typical, smug expression on his face – the only expression that will always belong right there, on him. The one face, expression, that could tie any irken's spooch in knots. Haloed by the starlight.

It felt right.

More right than anything these past decades has.

Lying around in temporary housing units provided during downtime, facing enemies and surpassing them, finishing assignments and receiving praise (if there was any). It was never enough.

Is he too selfish? Too wanting, too demanding?

Skoodge has never been praised for his accomplishments. Not by anyone important. He's not sure he wants to.

All he wants is to go back. Doesn't he?

Training looks so much more appealing, these days.

Exchanging smiles, hiding laughs. Grabbing hands, leading feet.

He curls further into his seat, fingers still firmly pinching his skin. "… You're an idiot. Skoodge." He stares at his boots, at the floor of his ship, and then at nothing at all, soaking in his pure, unadulterated stupidity.

A giggle dislodges from his throat, and as his eyes close and his brows pinch with joy, he feels even more stupid than before.

The laughter dies down, and the ship is blanketed in an eerie quiet. Only the fans of the ship and his own PAK keep it from becoming completely silent.

There should be tears, forming under his eyes, right now. They always do when he thinks about training too hard.

Guess he's tuckered his ducts out from all the crying he did earlier today.

Coward.

Big, stinking, stupid runner. Running around like a headless… something.

Can't even insult right.

It'd be better, if there were someone else doing it. Maybe. Someone to keep him in check. And keep him away from all… this. Nonsense.

Skoodge opens his starmap, looking over nearby galaxies and systems, wracking his meat brain for which planet he's looking for. And when that doesn't work, he wracks his PAK for memory of where the Tallest sent him. Any mention, any name. Anything at all.

He taps the most backwater, out-of-the-way galaxy he can recall being on Irken maps.

There it is.

Does Zim even remember Skoodge?

Would he want to see me if he did?

Skoodge isn't sure what Urth is like…

The sounds of reconstruction and devastation linger, just outside his ship.

With a shaking claw, he taps the map until directions pop up in front of him. He commits every detail to memory, saving the location of Urth's and its galaxy in his PAK.

… but it can't be worse than this 

The engine spurs.

#weekly skoodge #auauuah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! !! #unfinished part of my unuploaded fic. eat #written skoodge