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Interestingly enough, the boy wakes from his coma exactly one day, four hours, fifty-two minutes, and twenty-four seconds later.

Dib's head swims, his stomach bubbles uncomfortably, but that is not catches and keeps his attention from the get-go.

Rather, it is the gentle caress of a soft cloth moving over his bare chest, the tight bodily constraints all over, and the feel of inhuman eyes on him.

Summoning more strength than he thinks should be needed for such a minuscule action, the Earthling is finally able to force his eyes open after several seconds.

Only to gasp at what he sees and then cough violently when a flash of pain meets him. Raising a hand out of battle-hardened reflex to strike the threat he knows is there, he is met with a more-surprised-than-stern bark as the voice's owner takes his hand in a tight grip.

"None of that, Dib-human!" The child seizes again. He knew he wasn't seeing things! "If any more blood gets on this floor, GIR will have a Zombie Rubber Piggy picnic again…"

Dib's eyes are wide open now, and his face has lost what little color it had. His eyes are darting from the impatient alien to the curious little robot that has meandered over, and then to the destruction that surrounds.

Were his hand not in his alien nemesis' oddly strong grip, he would be getting as far away from the Irken invader as he can.

"Z-Zim!" he croaks, voice hoarse as one eye closes tightly against the pain of his injuries. "What…h-happened? Where is…everyone? W-why is…your b-base…destroyed? Why am…I hurt?" He pauses, studies himself further, and then lifts his head again. "Why are you…" he wrenches his hand from the invader's grip, "…taking care…of me?"

All is silent for a long moment. Finally, Zim's eyebrow quirks. "Um…what?"

The Earth boy glares, though his enemy's mechanical servant answers for him. "Silly master! Dib asked," his voice deepens suddenly, and spittle drenches the Irken and human as he screams, "'What's goin' on?'"

The alien casts a sideways glance at the human for confirmation, and the boy shrugs. "Yeah, that."

"Ah," Zim acknowledges. "Well, that's simple, Dib-human. It—"

He stops short.

His antennae droop more than Dib's ever seen, and he almost feels pity for the little Irken as his expression darkens. GIR's single antenna lowers as well, and he pats his master's shoulder in a show of compassion. Zim manages a tiny smile at this gesture and conveys his thanks to the little A.I., whose countenance brightens instantly.

At last, Zim turns his attention back to Dib, and the human is startled by how naked the invader seems all of a sudden.

"It's my fault," he admits, so softly it is hard to hear. Dib open his mouth to speak, but Zim shakes his head, silently begging for the chance to finish. The boy feels mysteriously compelled to comply. "The Time-Stasis Field was unstable, and if you'll remember it exploded with you still inside. When I tried to counter the sluggish explosion by using your Time-Stasis essence to speed it up…" his eyes narrow here, fists clenching, "…everything went wrong..."

The quiet is deafening now, so much so that Dib knows he hasn't heard the whole story. Besides, the state of the alien's base and what portion of the town he is able to see give voice to a destructive force unlike any other.

And all at once, Dib remembers. Everything.

Being captured, the Time-Stasis Field's malfunction, being used as the neutralizing force, the explosion, limping all the way across town to Zim's base, preserving just strength enough to insult the alien before…fainting at his enemy's feet…

That's where it ends. Up until now, he remembers nothing.

Inspecting his body in a way he never has before, he assesses the damage as best he can. Five large, probably-deep gashes rip open his chest, a stab wound pierces his stomach, three broken ribs make moving and breathing painful, his left ankle is in a splint, and his head aches shrewdly from a gaping wound.

That explosion should have been the end of him, no doubt about it.

Abruptly finding himself curious, he studies Zim and GIR.

Evidently, the left side of the android's head was blown off, mended by way of a garbage can lid and whatever else was to be found. Many more punctures and dents must have marred the servant's body at one point, but by now each has been taken care of as meticulously and caringly as possible.

Directing his attention to the small extra terrestrial now, Dib can't help staring for a good few moments. The Irken's own injuries are rather harsh—a harsh gash over his left eye, a horrid double-slice across his back, a stitched hack between his eyes, and a heavily-gouged stomach—and the Earthling can't stop the bile from rising to his throat.

All this time, the alien's been taking care of him, and though his mind is already whirring with possible wool-over-his-eyes-esque plots, some small voice in his heart urges Dib to…of all things…t-t-trust Zim!

He nearly laughs out loud at the thought, nearly tells himself he must be crazy to even touch upon it, but it is at this moment that he recalls one last thing: the tender, cool touch of the one with the cloth, of the one who always changed his bandages.

"But y—" Dib hardly knows his own voice when he starts up again, so frog-like and tentative is it, "—you…we…" He swallows, striving to quell the burning of his parched throat. GIR hands him a glass of water, and he downs it gratefully. He tries again. "You hate me! Why would you…h-help me?"

Zim's expression does not help, for it is unblinking and veils a kind of imminent emotional doom.

The answer he receives is not what he expects in the least.

It is far worse.

"Your Father and sister are gone," he whispers, suddenly extremely interested in his gloved fists. "Very nearly everyone else as well." He raises his head, and there is such a pitiful sheen of sorrow and guilt to his magenta eyes that Dib is left breathless. "It's all gone."

The young boy says nothing. He turns away from his enemy as if in a daze, trembling uncontrollably as his mind involuntarily conjures images of the corpses of his family, of Ms. Bitters, of his schoolmates, of everyone he's ever and never known. Granted, they'd always hated him, and a small part of him had always resented them for that in turn, but still…he'd never wish death upon them.

Before he knows what's happened, Dib is lying on his stomach in a puddle of his own vomit, his eyes bleary and ears ringing as his head pounds and throbs at once. Kneeling at his side, Zim uses a few extra wet rags to quickly clean both the mess on the floor and down the boy's front before beginning to examine him with the medical instruments stored in GIR's head.

As the human's consciousness fades at a rapid rate, he catches garbled words that only come to light in his subconscious.

"History aside, dirt-worm, survival is our common goal."