WARNING: This fanfiction is rated R. A high R. It contains male slash in a very questionable situation, involving an underaged, unwilling participant.

Two articles of note must be addressed in relation to this: first, there is a distinct difference between expressing ideas and endorsing/acting upon them; second, there is a difference between writing or reading something for literary interest and writing or reading for cheap whack-off value. With these points in mind, please remember that it is at your own discretion that you proceed to read this story.

Invader Zim characters copyright 2001 Viacom International and created by Jhonen Vasquez. Characters are used here without permission. No profit is being made from this file.

-----

Dirty Chicken's Got a Secret
by Apricot the Gerbil

Chapter 1: Thirsty

Dib sighed wearily, sliding back against the chair at his computer desk, his face awash in hazy blue light. The silhouette flickering on the screen waited attentively for him to continue.

"Well, yeah, I mean-- my dad does have money, I'm not saying he doesn't. But every time I go to him to ask for any, I never see a cent! It's like any money he makes from his job goes right back into his job," he muttered. "How am I supposed to actually prove to him that aliens exist if I can't buy any equipment to catch what he wants to see?"

"A very valid point, Mothman," the dark figure rumbled, its voice twitching under the hum of a digital manipulator. "However, I'm afraid The Eyeballs don't have much as far as a work-for-hire board... Technically, you understand, one is forbidden to mention they even know any other members."

"But-- how could that be? You helped me, didn't you?" Dib asked, quirking an eyebrow towards the two-way webcam.

"It was necessary under the circumstances. Purely a temporary measure, you understand. It wouldn't do for other Agents to reveal themselves, work arrangement or no. I'm sorry I can't help you with this."

Dib shrugged slightly. "Mmn... I guess I can't blame you. I should be happy enough knowing there's others actually out there-- it seems sometimes that every Swollen Eyeball I hear about's only some shadowy online persona, just a bunch of letters that's sent me an e-mail or whatever. Thanks again, Darkbootie."

The figure nodded back, a hint of a smile crossing the shadow-lined face. "Glad I could be of service."

A slight pause followed before Agent Darkbootie spoke once more: "Though... if my memory is correct... have you thought of contacting any retired members? Having cut their ties as they have, some ex-members have gone back into some form of business once more. I seem to recall the databases still being online in our archived files, if you were to search around for them."

"Oh, that's right! I think I remember coming across that file once. I didn't think of using it to ask anyone on it for a job, though," Dib mused.

Darkbootie's eyes narrowed, the twin red glows becoming slits. "A word of warning, however. There is no guarantee that the people will have a job for you, and I suggest you do not hope too ambitiously. It may be a bit tricky to arrange, either way. Some on that list are incredibly bitter at being re-contacted by Eyeball members, for whatever reason. But it is better than nothing at all."

"I'll keep it in mind. Thanks, Darkbootie!" Dib closed his eyes, smiling as he tipped his head in a quick bow.

"Good luck to you," the figure replied, returning the nod. Suddenly, the webcam picture bleached to a blinding white; the creak of a door could be heard, as well as another person's voice, yelling something about needing the staff toilets cleaned, and cleaned now. The red eyes flickered towards Dib as the washed-out shadow shrugged in apology. With a hurried "Darkbootie out!", the webcam blinked to black.

Dib shook his head, marveling at how much more fulfilling Darkbootie's online life must be. After all, spending one's offline hours locked up in a government office, scrubbing the windows and commodes clean while knowing yourself to be the only smart one in the entire NASAPLACE organization... Dib hoped to himself whatever job he might find wouldn't be as bad.

"Hey, that's right, the job--!" Dib spoke aloud (to no one in particular, as per usual). He immediately pulled up a browser of the Swollen Eyeball archives, takking his way through a barrage of passwords... until the folder in question was freshly downloaded into his computer's hard drive.

"Let's see..." he mumbled, scrolling past name after name, photo after photo. The list was much longer than Dib would've thought. He squinted curiously at the REASON FOR DISCHARGE listings that ended every person's file. So vague... "Injured," "Legal Matter," "Accident," "Deceased"-- he wondered how many members had gotten themselves killed in coups like those he had tried in his battles against Zim.

Midway through his search, Dib did a double-take at one of the listings. That man-- he'd seen that man before! He checked the name matched with the photo, and grinned in triumph. Who'd have guessed that the strange man in charge at the local Chickylicky's restaurant would be an Agent? That place was only a few blocks away, too... "Small world," Dib grinned to himself.

He grabbed for a notebook and pencil in his trenchcoat pocket (as Zim could show up at any time, Dib always carried material for notes) and tore out a page, scrawling down the information in Eric's file. He paused a bit as he reached the last line of text, the reason for retirement: "Legal Matter.”

Ah, well, Dib thought. If the guy ends up pulling out an axe and running at me or something, I can always just call the cops on him...

---

Riiiiing...... riiiiiiing....... riiiiiing... Click.

"Y'ello, Chickylicky's East. Our special today is the Finger-lickin' Platter, will this be for pick-up or..."

"Ah-- excuse me. I'm not calling to place an order. Is someone named Eric working there right now?"

"Eric? Yeah, sure. Hang on a sec."

Dib listened as a muffled shout was heard from the receiver, before a new voice spoke up.

"Hello...?"

Dib's face brightened, even though he knew the person on the other end wouldn't be able to see the reaction. "Is this Eric?"

"...Yes," the man replied, his voice hesitant. "Who is this?"

A gulp tugged at Dib's throat. He hadn't really expected this guy to be suspicious from the get-go... he silently cursed himself for not having planned anything to say, finally settling on what might give this person the quickest idea of who he was. "Let's... um, let's just say... my eyes are swollen."

The line was silent for a moment, and Dib panicked, wondering if this had frightened Eric away. "But I'm not representing them! I-- I'm just wondering if you might have any, um... kind of employment, maybe. I'm still pretty young, and I haven't worked at many jobs before," he stammered, "but I'd be willing to help out if you had any sort of part-time work."

More silence. Dib could hear slight breathing from the other side of the phone, so he waited, hoping for the best...

"You heard I was looking for work?" came the answer, a bit gruff. "...Did the Eyeballs send you to ask this?"

"No! No, I just asked because I'm in need of the money. I found out you used to be in the group, but..." Dib trailed off. "I'm sorry if you didn't want to be contacted. I... I can just hang up if you want."

"Wait!" Eric shot back. "You need money? 'Cause, I, um... I could find something for you to do around here. If you could come on down here to the restaurant, maybe...?"

Dib's eyes brightened with hope. "That'd be great! I could be there in..." He whipped his arm from his trenchcoat to glance at his watch. "In, well, not too long... What would work for you? Would you want to meet for just an interview?"

"Maybe longer than just a few minutes," Eric said. "Is there any way you could give a sign, that you were the one I talked to? We get so many people comin' through this place, I could be meeting anyone and not know it."

"I could give you a card! Maybe... the Eyeballs card?"

"Heh. That would work. Not too many folks wave those around when they're buyin' chicken."

"Great! That's just great..." Dib said, grinning to himself. "Should I bring anything along?"

Eric replied, "Just bring what you feel you need. You want to meet down here at nine tonight? Not too many customers here after eight or so, not on a weeknight."

"I'll be there! Thank you, sir."

"No problem," the man said, pausing before he added, "I can't promise anything, but there is a certain job I've been wanting to get taken care of down here for a while." He chuckled. "All classified, of course. Between you and me, I've been trying to keep away from the group for some time now. We had some..."

There was a pause. "We didn't see eye to eye on some things. The government was on my tail for a while-- I'd been playing around with some databases back when I was in the club. But, hell, that's in the past. I'm sure everything'll be fine... right?" Eric trailed off on the question, his voice edged, as if demanding confirmation.

"Heh... of course. Don't worry," Dib said. Well, this world was full of surprises... who's to say someone working at a fast-food dive couldn't be a hacker at heart?

"See you then."

"Of course!" Dib nodded, hanging up the phone after a click sounded from the other end. He paused for a moment, breathing in the sense of accomplishment. Who'd thought getting a part-time job might be so easy?

Then again, he still had to show this guy he had the know-how to pull off any task he might face. He listed off a few hacking techniques in his mind; he was sure he knew any codes that might be needed, but he wanted to be ready.

---

Dib idly tapped a finger against the counter, wondering if his watch was fast. It was ten minutes past nine. He'd been waiting for Eric to return for a while now.

When Dib had first arrived, he'd given Eric the card, only to be told he should take a seat back by the tables and wait for Eric to show up when he was ready. After that, all he could do was look over at the couple sitting in a nearby booth, feeling the rest of the empty room yawn around him, and try not to act nervous about the upcoming interview. He hadn't been kidding about this place being dead at night, Dib thought to himself.

After glancing at his watch for what must have been the tenth time, Dib heard a soft squeaking noise. He looked up again... and smiled. Finally, there was Eric, a Dirty Chicken toy in his hand. The man nodded, smiling that Dib had noticed the noise, and motioned with a hand to come back to the freezer room. Weird, yes, Dib thought... but nothing too weird. He'd taken Dib back there before, back during the Chickenfoot incident. Dib only hoped the man wouldn't try punctuating all his sentences with fake-spooky yowling noises again... that could get on anybody's nerves quickly.

Dib creaked open the rust-cracked metal door, stepping gently into the room. He shivered at the sudden plunge in warmth; it wasn't too awful, but was still cold enough to be a shock.

A faint clacking noise echoed as Dib shut the door, but he paid it no heed-- Eric was crouching nearby, in a corner where the light from the room's bare bulb was not as glaring. Hundreds of plucked chicken bodies were stacked atop the high stock-shelves, lying quiet and frozen in glittering rows. Dib noticed the Dirty Chicken toy propped up amongst them, and paused to smile at it. You'd think they would start giving out different toys here eventually...

Upon noticing Dib's arrival, Eric snapped his head up to attention, the fabric chicken atop his uniform's hat bobbing lazily as the boy stepped toward him. Eric was hunched over a small wooden shipping crate, with a fluffy pillow resting upon the slight layer of what dust he hadn't managed to scrape off the box.

"Ah! Good, you stayed around... heh. I-- I fixed you a nice pillow and everything. I know it's kinda cold back here..." Eric stammered nervously, a puffy wreath clouding about his mouth as he spoke. "Sorry-- just... I just never actually had any folks show up about that-- about the job offer. This is wonderful, for you to show up! I mean, who knew? Seems like yesterday you were helping me get rid of that Chickenfoot guy, and now here we are!"

"That's... nice..." Dib nodded. He hoped it wasn't too noticeable, but he was becoming a bit suspicious about the vagueness of this 'job'. What kind of hacking did this guy need so badly, to be acting this way? Pentagon files? He brought his backpack around to set it on the floor, looking up at Eric. "Now, what kind of job did you want, anyhow? I'm skilled in getting through encryptions, both in number-only and mixed-character passwords, and I'm--"

Eric's words cut Dib short as he continued to watch the boy before him. "How old are you, anyhow? Ten...?"

Dib paused, eyes narrowing a bit in annoyance at this odd question. "Twelve, actually... what does that have to do with anything, though?"

"Twelve... oh my gosh, only twelve..." Eric smiled, shaking his head back and forth with a gushy grin on his face. "I bet you're a hit with all the young ladies in class, eh? So smart already at your age, ‘n all!"

Dib winced a bit at this. He clenched his hands around his backpack, replying tersely, "No, actually. Not a one. I'm-- I'm not really into things like that. And my classmates don't really seem to be all that concerned about me. Now, please, I need to know. What do you want me to do--?!"

His question was interrupted as Eric suddenly dropped to one knee, taking Dib by the hand and looking directly into his eyes. The smell of fried grease became starkly pungent; Dib's eyes bulged from the stench, but moreso from the hungry look Eric was giving him... "That's why they kicked me out of their stuffy old club, you know-- bunch of dictators!" Eric mumbled, forcing Dib's hand along his uniform's shirtfront. Dib could only gasp in shock.

Eric closed his eyes, continuing dreamily. His words became quicker and quicker as Dib tried jerking his hand out of the greasy man's grip: "They just never let themselves understand how beautiful little kids like you can be. I understand... You told me you're in need of money, I've got money, lots of it! I've been saving up, no one's ever really come to me who's your age before-- I'll pay plenty! ...Just a half hour of fun never hurt anybody, did it, hm...?"

A tiny yelp jumped to Dib's mouth, only to be stifled like the uncomfortable start of a disappearing sneeze. His eyes grew wide with fear... "Fun--?! What are you talking about? I never-- I was just..." He stumbled for words, too unsure of what was happening to be able to form a proper response. He finally blurted out a tiny "please don't hurt me!!"

Eric moved closer, one hand all but slithering its way around Dib's back to pull the boy into an unwilling hug. "Now now, there... it'll be all right. You'll get your money, I get time with you. Nobody gets hurt! It can be a secret. No one knows we're back here... It can be just between you, me, and Dirty Chicken here." He tipped his head in the direction of the little plastic toy, mutely watching the pair from the shadows with its huge, empty cartoon eyes.

"I-- I... Mister, please, I-- you know this is illegal, right?!" Dib nervously stammered, looking around the room for a window-- anywhere that he might jump out through!-- and finding only the shut metal door. His eyes fixed onto the chunk of metal hanging from the door. The thought that the room had been locked since his entry dawned upon Dib, and panic jumped in his throat.

"Illegal? ...well... Sure, I guess it would be. But keep in mind, you went in search of me. Through a secret organization, to boot!" Eric's grin twisted, flattening to a smug line as he went on. "If you say anything, I can just show that Eyeballs card you gave me earlier. I still remember that old 'don't unmask a fellow Agent' schtick. If word gets out, your little club'll never look your way again!"

Dib gulped. The room was cold enough already, but that last realization made the pit of his stomach sink like a chunk of ice... No Swollen Eyeballs? But they were his last chance! Without their help, he'd be alone against his battle with Zim! All alone-- he'd felt that way badly enough even before Zim had arrived! But... between help from the Eyeballs, and-- well, and who knows whatever Eric had in mind for him...

A few moments passed before Dib registered Eric's hands across his back again. His gut was twisting, he felt like he might retch then and there... but he gave a hollow nod of his head. "A-all... all right..." A quick pause. "But for how much?"

Eric chuckled warmly, reaching back into one of the pockets that crisscrossed the pants of his Chickylicky uniform. "Got it right here. I got it together when you said you'd be coming by... there's at least five or six hundred here, I think. How many little boys can say they've gotten that much money from just one job, hm?"

Dib's gaze was fixed onto the massive curl of green paper in Eric's hands, not wanting to think of anything else at the moment-- yes, all one hundred-dollar bills... a lot to get for a little while of-- no, Dib shuddered to himself, don't think of what you'll have to do... but that amount of money would easily buy him just about any equipment he'd need to catch Zim. Or if not, it was a heck of a boost from what little he did have.

Steeling his mind, Dib gulped, leaning slowly into Eric's embrace, trying to drive the sick feeling from his gut... He softly mumbled an "okay" to the leering man's ear. Eric's grin widened as he motioned to the crate and pillow next to them. Dib suddenly realized the man must have planned this all along... How many other kids had he tried taking back here, anyhow?!

Eric was cooing to Dib the whole time, gently urging him on, saying whatever comforting things came to his mind... not that Dib was listening much. He only tried drowning the thudding sound of blood in his ears, forcing himself only to think of getting the equipment to defeat Zim. Think of Zim, just think of how you'll beat him, nothing else...

Dib dimly registered the feel of his trenchcoat being lifted from him, and the pillow, as he was laid gently onto his back... The dull stink of grease from Eric's wandering hands... The wispy sound of cloth falling to the floor-- Dib's legs suddenly felt colder...

--and Dib gasped, feeling hands wandering between his legs, touching, rubbing, caressing-- he already knew his face was a mask of embarrassed red. Not even doctors had ever touched him there like that! And the grease, that horrible greasy feeling those fingers were leaving behind-- couldn't this guy have even cared enough to wash his hands first?!

Suddenly, Dib felt something wet down there as well, like a warm slug. He could hear Eric moaning, and felt hot breath at the same time ohmygosh it's his TONGUE--

no-- just think of Zim! you have to do this to beat Zim--!!

But even the thought of Zim made Dib more ill. If it wasn't for Zim, he wouldn't be here in this cold little room like this! It was almost like getting raped by Zim-- Can't think of that, I'm gonna be sick all over the place if I do-- I'm... I'm just not here, Dib thought to himself. I can do this, I've done it before, this time it's just not kids at the playground trying to punch me--! Just... I'm just not here. This CAN'T be me right now, this can't happen...

And with a glossy, dead look in his eyes, Dib stayed quiet. Quiet, through all the groaning noises uttered through bursts of steam below, not daring to look, just barely noting the wet feeling as it spread... already, this felt like an eternity-- how long had he been in here...?

Dib felt arms grasping at him. He practically flopped like a rag doll at Eric's spoken, pleading commands, only finally feeling the spark of horrible realization as he felt Eric's arm scooping gently under his back, feeling himself being lifted off the pillow, feeling the fluffy coldness of it again, as he was settled this time onto his stomach...

--he WOULDN'T--!!

It was his last thought before the pain tore through his body.

Dib wasn't even sure how long it lasted; he could hear bits of what Eric was saying to him, but other than hearing "Such a good little boy", all he could think of was the searing, awful pain prickling through him with every move the man behind him made. He tried screaming, screaming with all his might, and hardly noticed that Eric had shoved his face into the pillow to shut him up until Dib realized he couldn't breathe.

And then... then, after it felt like it'd gone on like a hellish eternity... what felt like a soggy sneeze exploded deep inside of him.

Moments passed, marked by nothing but the sound of Eric's panting. Dib heard himself whimpering softly before the sensation of being stuffed past full finally slid away, leaving behind what felt like a huge cavern full of fire.

As Dib stayed silent, gasping for breath through the pillow, he could hear Eric mutter a sound of surprise, followed by "uh oh... umm. Say, I... I didn't know you'd be-- that it'd be..." He trailed off, finishing with "How about I'll be right back with some water or something? Should probably wash that up." Dib didn't even want to think about what Eric might be seeing...

Eric's boots clacking on the floor could be heard, scuttling about, as if he wasn't sure where to go. There was a heavy silence, in which muffled sobs could be heard from through Dib's pillow, now sopping wet with confused snot and tears.

Dib suddenly felt fingers whisking along somewhere between his legs-- he wasn't even sure where anymore, just down there-- as Eric said in a soft voice, "Well, I'm going to get a washcloth. I'll be right back, I promise... Glad to see you apparently had a fun time, too."

Dib gaped at this remark. Only one word resounded through his mind: HOW--?!!

The sound of a zipper echoed in the room, followed by Eric's boots clacking away. A combination dial whirred in a frantic series of spinnings, and a faint rush of cold wind brushed over Dib from the door's opening and closing. He finally removed a hand from the iron grip he'd had on the crate, wandering down to see what in the world Eric had meant. He didn't dare touch where he knew he was probably bleeding who knows how badly, but his hand still bumped up against something hard...

Dib may have been young, but he wasn't stupid enough to not know what he was now touching. He lay there, gently running his fingers over and over the stiffness, as if trying to convince himself that it was something else, something not him.

His eyes now showed guilt along with his tears. What did this mean? Did he actually ENJOY that? That's impossible-- why would I ever, EVER--?! The confusion tore at him almost as badly as the dull pain thudding from near his hand.

Eric soon returned. Dib hadn't noticed the door creak, but he was surprised at the feeling of warm water and the soft scruff what was probably some kind of towel suddenly joining the stinging burn in his back. He considered raising his voice in protest, but instead stayed quiet, trying to find out for himself just what awful part of him might find this sort of feeling to be good.

The washing was brisk, and the silence hung like the lumps of cold chicken around the two of them. When Dib heard Eric mumble "I think that should do it," the man's voice sounded quieter, more hurried. Was he afraid?

Dib felt a hand under his chin, and looked up to see Eric staring right back at him. "Now, you should be fine, I think, but if you need to go to a hospital, you just be careful about what you say." Dib blinked, and noticed the Swollen Eyeballs card in Eric's hand as the man continued. "I've still got this, you know. It's your choice. You can keep all the money I'm giving you for this, and walk out of here without letting anyone know about what we did, OR I can hand this over to the police saying I've heard it's an undercover boy-love organization or something... and you can just watch the fur fly, knowing you caused it all." Eric grinned smugly, then grasped the card tight enough to crinkle it in his fist.

His expression changed from cruel to kind so quickly that Dib's mind reeled. "But I think you should be all right from here on out. Just a bit of a bruise, that's all. You were so good..." Eric patted Dib's hair-scythe warmly, bringing over a hand in a motion to help the boy to his feet.

After a minute or so of halting struggle, Dib complied, putting his clothes back on with all the enthusiasm of a robot and stumbling over to rest limply against the door, staring at the lock. He silently ran his fingers along the bills that had been stuffed carefully into his trenchcoat pocket-- put there sometime when he hadn't been paying attention to the room, probably-- and sighed to himself.

Eric walked over with the Dirty Chicken toy in his hands. He held it in front of the boy, squeaked it once, whispered "our secret!", and tossed the toy over his shoulder with a grin.

After Eric spent a few moments adjusting seemingly random patterns on the lock, the door creaked open, bringing in a gust of hot wind. Dib stepped back into the light...

...and ran out the door as fast as the cave between his legs could allow him to.

Eric walked over to Maria, who was scrubbing a crusty oven tray over the sink, and shook his head, smiling. Maria looked up at him, and he was startled to see burning tears streaking down her reddened face.

In a voice low and shaking like brimstone, she said to him, "You gave him a better job... DIDN'T you?!"

Eric stammered for a moment, putting his hands up in case his employee might toss the tray at him. "Maria! Honey! Why would I do a thing like that?"

Maria turned back to scrubbing, lashing away at the tray as if she could rip bones out of it if she scratched it hard enough. She kept her eyes and her voice both low enough for the two customers sitting at the tables to remain as happy and unthinking as everyone always was when they came here to eat...

"Because you know damn well it's not the first time you have."

---

Dib all but smashed the door open with the strength he had left. As he stumbled into his family's house, he could hear familiar sounds... there were bleeping noises from some game or another coming from the living room, even at this late hour. The buzz of electrical current surged from his father's lab in the basement.

The basement...

The simple thought of those four cold walls was enough. Dib could hear a panicked scream choking itself in his throat, trying to get out. Before he was aware of it, he'd scampered down the hallway and tossed off his coat, smacking the lid of the toilet up and uttering terrified little cries in between his attempts to get some of his sick feeling out of him. Maybe not for long, but for right now, just out of his mouth was enough.

His grip on the porcelain tightened a bit as he heard his sister walk in. He didn't care if she was there-- if she didn't want to see, she didn't have to stay. He hoped to the world that she wouldn't just start laughing.

Gaz didn't laugh. Instead, she raised an eyelid at the roll of money that'd spilled out of Dib's coat as he'd thrown it off. She looked back at Dib, with a look that may or may not have been pity (it was always hard to tell with Gaz).

"Geez, Dib," she said, with only a hint of interest curving her flat voice, "Who did you kill?"

Dib's only answer fell gagging into the bowl.

-----