"It worked! It really worked…" Dib whispers, staring at GIR, pulled from one moment to the next and blessedly here, perfectly unfazed.
The Zim of Trainer's world-- revived from his PAK and now sporting a mostly-human body cloned specifically to host it by this world's version of Membrane-- claps. "ADEQUATE!"
Trainer chokes on a laugh, requiring Dib to thump him on the back a couple of times.
"Gee, thanks." Dib drawls. Somehow he feels like he's just run a mile, just faxed off against 0001 personally and won. He's shaking from adrenaline, he's breathing hard and it feels like, even if only for a moment, he can feel every nerve in his body, every drop of blood in his veins singing with a certain feeling of utter joy.
He did it. He did it and it works. He didn't screw up, didn't fail, he got up on his feet and he worked and worked and it was all worth it because here is the proof that it will work. The proof that he's not helpless against what happened to them, that he could make a difference in the catastrophe that befell them all.
It's electrifying. Incredible. A salve for the wound that he's been carrying, a balm for the suffering of others.
That many fewer lives claimed by 0001 and the void.
The finest of Irken technology, and he improved it, as his Dad would say. Or maybe shout.
"You did it." Trainer says finally, kneeling down to inspect GIR. "Ruzby, you crazy kid, you actually did it."
Pride. He feels it rush through his veins. Oooooh, he can't wait any longer. "Let's go."
"Now?" Trainer blinks up at him.
"This very instant. You can call Care, he compiled a list of lost GIR units. He'll be able to help coordinate everyone who needs to be there coming there. I have to go, now! I can't wait anymore."
"Hang on, let me help you pack up and get set up there."
---
The void is different than it used to be. Almost a ghost town, in comparison to the bustling hub of people, filled with a aura of despair rather than chaos. The only ones left here are the lost and the broken, those who have no where else to go and no one to share it with.
Heads pop out of doorways as Dib passes with Trainer and Care, pushing the device on a cart with a cloth thrown over it. The excitement radiates off of the three of them, drowning out the dour atmosphere with precious, golden hope.
Dib bites his lip as they approach the gathered group of people milling around awkwardly in front of the same building that PAKs were once distributed from.
All tests show it will work.
He's still nervous.
The first one to approach him hands him the slip of paper he'd requested they all bring. A number, a date.
Dib pulls the cloth off his creation in one swift movement.
A time portal. Just like the one that had brought him to Dad's ship a decade ago. Keyed to GIR and GIR alone.
He plugs in the date. Sets the location.
Then he throws in a replica, a fake version of GIR with no brain, not actually activated.
A GIR unit comes tumbling out as the sound of a ship crashing screeches through the portal.
The first Dib is so, so happy as he picks up the confused robot, gives him a hug, and walks away.
The day rushes by. GIR after GIR, pulled from the wreckage and brought home to waiting arms.
Dib's vibrating. Trainer pats him on the back.
The sun is lowering in the sky. The crowd has finally dispersed, after hours and hours and hours of testing and planning and saving.
There's just… one… left.
Part of him is afraid it won't work. Part of him is afraid it'll fail.
He punches in his own number (5457) and the date he crashed. He punches in the location of where the ship crashed.
He throws in the last fake GIR.
Out tumbles one last little silver robot.
Dib's eyes grow wide and wet, and he rushes the little guy, hugging him so tightly his chassis creaks.
"Dib! We're not crashing anymore?"
"No, GIR…" Dib whispers, resting his forehead against the cool metal of GIR's. "We're not."
Tears drip steadily under Dib's glasses, but he smiles. Oh, he smiles.
"C'mon. Let's go home."
Home, with his Dad and GIR. His family back together again.