Ta-daaa! Thanks again for taking the time to read this little fan-fic series of mine. This is the ending to my Foster's MacxBloo series fics, as so aptly titled "The Ending." Here's my warning for people who accidentally stumbled across this: IF YOU DON'T LIKE YAOI, OR BOY X BOY, OR MPREG, DO NOT READ THIS. Reviews are welcome. Disclaimer: I do not own Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends or any of its characters.

So, many readers might be thinking right now, "Why the hell is there another sequel? I thought that everything was pretty much resolved between Mac and Bloo." Right-o! But other things haven't been resolved in Mac's life, and this story focuses on the examination of those things. Plus, I wanted an excuse to write a story with Junior being a more prominent role. He's pretty cool now that he's not two anymore...

Chapter One

"Blooregard Evans-Kazoo!"

Junior, who had been staring out the window with extreme boredom, snapped his attention back to the front of the room. His teacher, Ms. Ischowitz, a lanky woman in her fifties, hunched over her desk, glancing up and down at her textbook. Junior, bewildered, glanced across the room at Willow, his best friend, who was biting her sweet pink lips and casting him a worried look.

"Junior, sometime today?" Ms. Ischowitz said tiredly, glaring at him.

"The answer is 36," Junior responded, analyzing the math on the board. His brain felt a slight rush as he completed the problem in his head, smiled when he had reached the conclusion. Math was so easy.

"Thank you, Junior. That was the first problem that we did. How about the next one?"

The class snickered and Willow shook her head and hid her nose in her math book. Junior smirked and gave a cocky tip of his head.

"Yeah, that one is 72."

The class murmured in admiration, and Ms. Ischowitz blushed slightly, irritated.

"Could you please pay attention?" she snapped, closing her textbook. "I'll never understand what exactly is so interesting outside, but if you could focus in class, that would be nice."

Reprimanding me like that in front of the class, Junior thought heatedly. Who the heck does she think she is? It's sixth grade math, no one cares.

The bell rang and Willow scooped up her books. Junior picked up his book bag and slung it over his shoulder. Willow approached him, her eyes still nervous. She was always a bit of a jittery girl, looking like she was afraid of something.

"Junior, you really shouldn't goof off as much as you do," Willow whispered, tucking a strand of her straw yellow her ear.

Ms. Ischowitz blew her nose from her desk, snuffled, and then got up and left the room, leaving the two of them alone. Junior cast Willow a confident grin.

"Right. What's she going to do? I've got the best grades out of anybody in this class."

"She called on me again. I couldn't answer."

"Don't worry about it. You'll figure it out. I'll help you."

"I hate algebra," she whispered, sounding like she was going to cry.

The two left the room and headed down the hallway, through the streams of kids, to their lockers. Since their names were both right next to each other alphabetically—"Evans" and "Evansky"—they had basically been right next to each other since kindergarten when they had to share the same cubby hole. Willow had taken one look at Junior's aqua blue skin and smiled.

"Are you an imaginary friend?" she asked, opening her bag of bear-shaped graham crackers.

"My Dad is," Junior had answered, smiling slightly nervously. He knew from parent's night, which had been held a week prior, that he was the only kid in the whole class who had two dads. He was also the only kid that had an imaginary friend for a parent. And he still remembered the nasty looks that Jacob and Terry Wilson had given him when their mother was gloating about how the boys could read a picture book. He had remembered Willow, the timid little girl who had cried in the back corner of the room, and how her parents had begun arguing over her.

"Oh," Willow said, "You're the kid with two daddies, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Cool," Willow smiled. "Want to be friends?"

Wary of her kindness, Junior had said, "Oh I don't know… I don't think I could be friends with a girl."

Willow's smile had vanished then, and she wandered off to try to go and play with the other girls. They, being little girls (and little girls not being the nicest) giggled at her request to participate, and cast her away. Junior had watched from where he stood, and saw her wander from group to group, and all of them shunned her. He remembered, those days in preschool, when he had been shunned similarly. He had gotten used to kids' harshness, and had toughened up because of it, but rejection had cast an opposite effect on Willow. She went to the middle of the room, and had sat there crying with her open bag of crackers.

Junior walked over; he had blushed deeply, and declared, "Never mind! You're really cool!"

"W-what?" she murmured through her tears.

"Yeah." He had smiled. "So don't cry, don't cry. We'll be friends."

And for better or worse, they had been best friends ever since: spending nights, weekends, and afternoons together, playing at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, and getting into all sorts of wacky situations. When the sun had fallen low on the horizon and cast its orange glow over suburbia, he had walked her all the way home, past the field with tall crackling grass that hid the homes of the magical fireflies. She lived just down the road from him. They had grown up together, and they had been there for each other in their darkest of times: when Mr. Herriman had passed on, when Willow's parents had gotten divorced, when favorite friends from the house had been adopted, or when their favorite television shows were cancelled. The two were basically inseparable.

Now they were on that long walk back home from the middle school. Spring was emerging and things alive in this concrete sparse-tree area of town. Courts were filled with gaggles of kids rushing around, making noise and playing tennis or basketball.

They came to a crosswalk and stopped.

"How is your mom's new boyfriend?"

"I don't like him."

Junior thought sarcastically, There's a first.

Willow wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged herself. "I mean… he's kind of a jerk. He fought with my mom the other night and she was crying."

"What were they fighting about?"

"I don't know," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Whatever it was, she was really upset. She went into her room and didn't come out."

The symbol on the traffic light changed and they walked across the street. Quaint shops, built of brick and cement, lined the town's freshly refinished roads. As the spring had come with unusually warm weather, the doors were opening, and people milled in and out of the shops along the street. Junior and Willow still had about a 1/3 of a way to go back to Foster's. They spent it in peaceful companionship.

Mac looked up at Bloo from underneath his bangs, slightly irritated.

"Bloo, I said I don't know."

He folded another shirt in half and moved on to the next one in the pile. Beside him, a small pink imaginary friend with a flute like nose folded socks. Bloo stood in the doorway, his arms crossed.

"Well come on, Mac."

"Bloo, can we not talk about this in front of Strudel?" Mac indicated the helper beside him with a dip of his head.

Strudel laughed, and when he did so, his nose whistled a few notes. "No, really, it's okay, I quite enjoy this."

Mac rolled his eyes and dumped the rest of the clothes onto the bed. He snapped a pair of jeans back into their shape with a sturdy reflex of his arms and quietly asked Strudel to deliver some of the clothes. After checking the tags on each item, Strudel swept up the finished clothes of other friends and then headed out the door.

"I just don't know how I feel about having another baby, Bloo." Mac sighed as he finished folding the pants. He crisply tucked the corners, obsessively straightening the edges and smoothing wrinkles.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Mac said, with an incredulous scoff. "Why not? Because Frankie and Vince already have two kids in addition to our first, which makes three kids cutting into the fortune; our son is twelve and would therefore be twelve years apart in age from the new baby, and I don't know how much it would take for me to carry another… Or if it's even possible."

"Right." Bloo said, shutting the door behind them and walking over to where Mac was putting away his clothes in the drawers. "But it should be, shouldn't it? I mean, we've been using birth control for years, and we haven't slipped once… You haven't gotten pregnant."

"Maybe I'm too preoccupied to concentrate on conceiving a baby," Mac suggested with another tired sigh. "Or maybe I just don't want to."

Mac's mind floated back to an earlier time, when he had been desperately young. How when they had been in Europe, Junior had slept in a little basket by the bed, or in a box beside Mac, never with a crib to call his own. He remembered the countless nights he had gotten up, carried a wailing baby outside, and paced the dimly lit hallways of unfamiliar hotels. He could recall how after he got Junior back to sleep, how he would slink down against the wall in a blur of tears and fall asleep right outside the hotel door, clutching his son tightly to his chest. It had been the hardest time of his life, and he still couldn't believe that he had done it. He had had to do it all without Bloo, since they had been broken up at the time.

"I know, I know that it really sucked the first time we had a baby."

"I had the baby, Bloo."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Bloo said defensively, his tone slightly heated. "But Mac, we've been together for ten years now. We're basically married. I'm going to be taking half of the weight of your shoulders."

Or adding to it, Mac thought with a smirk, knowing how annoying that Bloo could get.

"What even brought this up?" Mac said, closing another drawer and retrieving the basket that was on the bed. "Why do you want another baby?"

"Because I want to have that chance with you!" Bloo responded energetically. "I never got to experience being with Junior in his earliest moments. I didn't teach him how to walk, or to talk, or to be potty trained…" Bloo's voice got a little sad. "And it kind of sucks, knowing that you did all of that and I had no part in it. Cause I'm his dad."

"There was nothing you could do," Mac answered. "I was halfway across the world, traipsing around Europe."

He kissed Bloo's forehead, and stared into his partner's deep black eyes. "I didn't say that I wouldn't agree to it."

"Maybe is basically like saying no," Bloo grumbled.

Mac's eyes flashed. "Well, a 'maybe' is better than a 'no.'"

With that, Bloo knew that their conversation for the time being had ended. Mac whisked himself out their bedroom door and back down the stairs. Bloo trailed after him. Just as they were halfway down, the doors opened and Willow and Junior entered.

"Yo, dads," Junior said, giving his parents a nod. "Is it cool if Willow is here for dinner?"

"You know Willow is always welcome here, Junior," Mac replied, a twinkle in his eye as he surveyed the two. "So, Willow, did Junior do anything bad today?"

"He kinda spaced out in math class," Willow admitted, blushing. She could not tell a lie; it was not in her nature.

"Ooh with Mrs. Ischowitz?" Bloo gagged himself.

"Ms.," Junior corrected dryly. "No one would marry that old hag."

Mac rolled his eyes. "Be nice, Junior. You have her for two more months of school; you can last that long."

"Ugh," Junior groaned, slumping his backpack on the floor by the old coat hanger in a secluded corner of the front hall. "Two more months? Dad, don't remind me."

Willow politely hung up her coat and tidily placed her shoes together. Mac and Bloo left to go to the laundry room, gossiping about something. Willow smiled strangely, gazing after them.

"I think there's something going on with your dads," she told Junior as they headed down the left hallway towards the game room. "Don't you think they seem a bit different today?"

"Don't know, don't care," Junior answered, grinning at her. "Aren't they always a bit weird?"

"Yeah, but I can't quite place it," Willow added, "it's like they're caught between bickering and something else."

"Aren't they always happily bickering like the newlyweds they are?"

"No, it's something else," Willow protested firmly. "I'm sure it is."

"Willow, do you know what you want to do today?"

"Weren't you going to help me on my math homework?"

"Later, girl," Junior said with a laugh. "You gotta relax some time y'know?"

Willow blushed and they headed into the game room. Fluffer Nutter sat on the couch with an irritated look on her face as she listened to Jackie obnoxiously hoot and laugh at some sort of commercial. Their three children, who were sitting down in front, copied their father to almost a t. Five years ago, when Junior had been seven, the two imaginary friends had run off for a while, only to come back six months later with a marriage license from Canada and with Fluffer Nutter expecting triplets. Since it was an additional three mouths to feed at Foster's, Frankie and Mac had agreed to house them, but only if they would pull their own weight as best they could: which meant getting jobs. Of course, Fluffer Nutter was the only one who actually got a job.

"Hey Fluffer Nutter. Hey Jackie. Whatchu guys up to?"

Fluffer Nutter let out an aggravated sigh and quipped, "Oh, nothing. Just staying in a dark smelly room on my day off from the flower shop. Watching an old movie."

"Ooh, what movie?"

"Beethoven," she responded dully. "That one about the dog."

"Oh." Junior was unexcited now too. "Do you guys mind if Willow and I play a video game? We're getting kinda far on Sky Rim."

"Hey, kid, you still got five wives?" Jackie Khones asked in his dark, rich voice. His one eye glanced back to Junior.

"You know it."

"Atta boy!"

Fluffer Nutter rolled her eyes and then promptly exited the room. The three children, who had short attention spans, also left with their mother. Jackie parted ways from them to go and make a sandwich. Junior flicked on the Xbox 360 and snatched up the controller and immersed himself in the game of SkyRim. Willow, who while liked SkyRim, was content to just sit there and watch him play the game by himself. She always had admired how smoothly Junior seemed to do things: watching him complete a task, whether in real life or in a game, was always interesting to her.

"I like her," Junior said, directing his character over to an oddly attractive Dark Elf.

"Why?" Willow scrunched up her nose at the character, with the beady red eyes and charcoal lips.

"She's prettier than most Dark Elves," Junior replied. "I think she'll be wife number six."

While Junior then proceeded to interact with the cyber woman, Willow's mind drifted to a faraway, soft place.

"Junior."

"Yeah?"

"Am I pretty?"

He turned and looked over at her, blinking in confusion. He stared at his best friend, who looked at him expectantly.

"Uh. Why?"

"I just want to know. Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Sure." Junior turned his attention back to the game. "I think you're attractive. Yeah, why not?"

Willow's heart fell a little bit, and she felt something in the pit of her stomach become awfully sore. Why had she asked the question? And why wasn't it the answer that she was looking for?

Probably because it wasn't very genuine, she answered for herself, settling back into her seat. She pulled her knees to her chest and set her chin on top of them. But, I mean, it's Junior. He's really not that deep of a guy.

Junior, to her, had always been this happy go lucky person who was eager for life. He lived to live, and had always planned out their adventures. Willow had been his trusty sidekick, following him around all the time, somehow always knowing that his ideas were the best. When Willow had been picked on in school (particularly by Billy, the son of her mother's long time now ex boyfriend) Junior had always been around to kick some ass, bash a few heads in, and get himself sent to the principal's office. And he would do it all with the cockiest smile on his face. A part of her had always loved him, while a part of her loved him now.

"So… my dads. You think they've been acting weird."

"Yeah."

"Well, now that you mention it," Junior said to her, "I think that something funny has been going on too. I mean, like, the other day I saw Papa in one of the old storage rooms, and he was pushing aside some stuff and analyzing things… Talking about paint and something…"

"Sounds important. Maybe they're moving into that room."

"No. It's really small and doesn't have a bathroom like their bedroom does," Junior protested. "No, it's something else. I hope they'll tell me. Oh well."

As he said this, something in Willow's mind clicked. She looked at Junior with wide eyes.

"You don't think… maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe they're going to have another baby."

Junior threw back his head and howled with laughter. Willow smiled slightly, and rolled her eyes at her friend. Junior was doubling over, his sides hurting as he laughed.

"Oh my God, Willow," he said, still laughing as he wiped a tear from his eye, "that is just too funny. Maybe you should be a comedian when you grow up."

"Well, what exactly would prevent them from having another baby?"

"Uhh… Well, here's one thing: I was basically grown all sci-fi style in a culture for the final three months. There was a whole team of super scientist-doctors that were behind making sure I survived. For the sake of science or something I guess." Junior rapidly tapped the buttons on the controller. "I was lucky I didn't have cerebral palsy or was mentally disabled."

"And so?"

"So if they were thinking about having another baby it's probably a stupid idea."

"But you turned out so great!" Willow said with a blush, and Junior smiled at her.

"Yeah, I know. I'm pretty cool. But no younger sister or brother is going to outmatch my coolness," he responded.

He suddenly reached over and flicked off the Xbox.

"I changed my mind. Do you want to go and bug the crap out of Duchess, or see if Wilt wants to play b-ball with us?"

"Basketball, definitely," Willow said, nodding her head.

The two then got up and promptly exited the room in search of Wilt.

Mac sighed in aggravation as another sock fluttered to the ground like an autumn leaf.

I hate laundry days, he thought as he bent down to pick up the sock.

He headed down the front hall steps and saw Eduardo entering through the front door, carrying what was today's mail for the house.

"What have we got there, Ed?" he asked as he descended the stairs.

"Junk, junk, junk, malo, malo, malo… bills, bills, ooh!" Eduardo's hoof-claw suddenly withdrew a coupon book. "Senor Mac! Coupons!"

"Gas station coupons," Mac replied.

"Si! Es muy bueno! Ooh, look, this large soda only costs 25 cents after purchasing three gallons of gas!"

Mac laughed as Eduardo raced away. He began to wander the halls in search of a friend who would maybe take this load off of him. Frankie and Vince had taken their girls to go see their grandparents who were on Vince's side of the family. They wouldn't be back for a few weeks at most. His workload for him had consequently doubled.

Suddenly he felt a gust of wind blow by him as Willow and Junior raced by.

"Hey!" Mac cried out. "No running in the halls!"

"Sorry, Dad," Junior said, grinning at his dad as he turned his body around. "Have you seen Wilt?"

"He should be in the kitchen doing the dishes, or if he's finished that, he'll be outside."

"Alright, thanks!"

"Thanks Mr. Evans!"

They then began to race off again as if Mac's first rule hadn't breeched their heads—which it obviously hadn't.

Mac dragged his body into the dining hall and sat down in what used to be Mr. Herriman's chair. The old rabbit had died roughly six years ago, four years after the death of his creator, the late Madame Foster, who had been Frankie's grandmother. Ever since his death, the position of house president had been up for grabs, but since authority mainly circulated evenly from Frankie to Mac, it had remained unfilled, and thus the office had also remained untouched. Occasionally Mac would go in there and dust, and maybe mumble a hello to Mr. Herriman, as it seemed he was always there. There were rumors that the friends passed around that late at night, you could hear his feather pen scratching across sheets of parchment, the old calculator churning out numbers, and the thump-thump-thump of his footsteps across the white tiles.

Mac folded multiple shirts and socks, and didn't even try to crack the wrinkles out of the pants. Multiple friends passed by him as if it was during some sort of rush hour at the house. He wondered when he would have to start dinner.

"Ugh, my head…" Mac mumbled, touching his temples and rubbing them as the onset of a headache occurred.

He heard the front door squeak open. He stood up, and quickly fixed his white sweater as he went to go and see who the visitor was.

"Hello," he said with a yawn, which he quickly covered. "Are you here to adopt an imaginary friend?"

A woman stood in the front hallway, wearing a brown trench coat even though it was the beginning of summer. Her hair, which had traces of a reddish orange in its brown hue, had been shaved down to her skull. Her face had aged considerably, as wrinkles had stretched out what had once been youngness. She stood perched on the edge of the rug, her feet perched like she was excited, but too scared to enter. She embraced everything with her eyes.

"Um, hello?" Mac asked again, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. It's almost like 5:30. What are you doing here?

Then she turned to face him, and he felt floored. His face flushed, and his eyes widened. She smiled at him, shyly.

"Hi, Mac."

The silence in the room was deadening. Mac almost felt like he could scarcely breathe. He just stared at this woman, the woman who had abandoned him even though he was her own.

His mother.