Disclaimer: I don't own Foster's, lamentably. And a side note, if I can, the titles will reflect the story title in some way. E.g., nowhere land.

Chapter Two: Land

Eyes averted, Mac hung his head dispiritingly low and maneuvered his way home through pure memory. Frankie's toast to Mr. Herriman and Madame Foster's relationship had struck still tender nerves lurking beneath the surface- he had burst out of the room and glared moodily at the wall until his treacherous thoughts sank again. Though he had stayed behind to discard of the aftermath, his heart hadn't been in it. Phrases drifted from his subconscious and assailed him when he least expected it. Forget cruel peers; at times, one's own mind could be one's worst enemy.

Dusk descended upon the sleepy suburb and the twilight stars sparkled down on the despondent boy. Though the night contained no hint of clouds, he ignored its simplistic beauty, far too befuddled with his thoughts. A dog barked in the distance, crickets chirped the temperature for the humid summer day, but as these were customary, Mac easily tuned them out. Even the occasional cooling breeze left him high and dry.

"Never abandoned her when she needed him most…although she grew up, she never outgrew him…"

Mac kicked a soda can out of his way stubbornly. Why did Frankie have to choose those particular words? Moreover, why had she given a speech at all? Did fate enjoy mocking him? Sometimes, he wondered if he were the brunt of a cosmic joke.

After all, he spent a majority of time at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, but his own imaginary friend had not been seen for years. Then again, when your brother was drinking at fifteen and more violent after coming home, not to mention your mother worked too many jobs to notice, you tended to avoid your house too. Foster's wasn't just another place to go, it was home. But the only reason he was allowed there at all was because of Bloo and heaven knew where he was now.

Folding his arms across his chest and scowling, Mac continued on his way, unaware that on the other side of town, Bloo contemplated his own fate.

Hanging out by a local bar certainly wasn't the most acceptable practice for an imaginary friend, but then again, neither was living in an alleyway. On the other side of town, where only riffraff frequented, Bloo frequently saw things he knew Frankie and the others would never want him to witness. Though he was technically younger than Mac (though his human form aged with his creator's), he was now more worldly in the dregs of humanity. Through this unique vantage point, Bloo could safely say he fairly detested most humans. They all had vices and they all exploited them here.

A weaving, stumbling individual forced his way through the crowd and staggered home. Bloo, normally in no mood to give a damn, paused. Though it had been two years, he would recognize that ugly expression anywhere. He stood impulsively, decisively, and began to trail him. With any luck, he'd lead him to Mac.

Staggering, Terrance awkwardly meandered home at a snail's pace. Nerves constantly frayed, it took every ounce of Bloo's self restraint not to snap at him. Jeez, passing animals outstripped him. Couldn't he walk any faster?

When he halted to vomit, Bloo had finally had enough. Fists balled, wishing he could shove him into it, he glared. If he wandered into Mac's apartment behind Terrance, he could safely see Mac without risking him recognizing him. Then, he'd weigh his options. At least he'd be closer.

"Do you really think drinking makes you any smarter?" Bloo snapped coolly, yanking Terrance's head up and shoving him upright against a tree. Terrance blinked, staring at Bloo stupidly. He wanted to punch him, he really did. Getting out his aggressions and his frustrations would be exhilarating. Besides, he doubted Mac cared what condition his brother returned in.

"You look familiar…" Terrance slurred, leaning over again. Bloo stepped aside to avoid another splash. He'd heard that if humans didn't vomit after a binge and the poison lingered in their system, they died. Right now, he honestly thought he didn't give a damn.

"And you look like the Tooth Fairy," Bloo retorted, his mood blackening with every wasted second. Just shut up and lead me to Mac.

"I do?"

Resisting the urge to slam his head against the tree, he snarled instead and shoved Terrance once again to his feet. The teenager protested, falling back on him. Whiskey clung heavily to his breath and his clothes smelled strongly of tobacco and marijuana. Though he disliked the scents, they didn't surprise him. Nothing surprised him anymore.

"But I don't wanna go home…" he whined, nearly falling over and cracking his head open on the pavement. Bloo snatched him around the middle and winced, wishing he'd the common sense to avoid hitting his clothing. Then again, Terrance lacked common sense, so he wasn't terribly shocked. He was just, as Bloo nicely put it, a waste of oxygen. Then again, if he hadn't been born, Mac might not have created him. In a way he'd rather not acknowledge, he owed a small debt to him.

Kicking him in the shin, Bloo half dragged, half carried him the rest of the way. On the stoop, Mac's apartment loomed, larger than before and his resolve weakened. He dared not before to approach this place, but here it was. How would Mac react when he saw him? Did he hate him? Would he scream, rant and rave?

Indecisive, he propped his pawn up and waited. In a few moments, however, his decision was made for him. Resentful because this was the fifth time in a week, he had to haul his brother up the stairs, Mac strode towards them. Bloo's fear rooted him to the spot and he stared helplessly.

"Why do you have to do this every night, Terrance?" Mac sighed, inwardly fuming. He grabbed his giggling brother but stopped dead, dropping him onto the grass median with a soft plop. Still frozen, Bloo peered into his creator's eyes and a spark of recognition shone in them. Though he hadn't created him as a human, he'd know his creation anywhere. Trepidation rocked his legs, but he continued to stand and gawk.

"No…" he breathed, halting just a few inches away. Bloo's breath caught in his throat, but he found himself compelled to gaze. Mac's chestnut eyes lured him in.

"You're…you're alive?" Mac murmured incredulous, touching his cheek to make sure. Bloo wished he could speak or otherwise move, but the paralysis seemed to be spreading. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Terrance crawling towards the door. He was too stunned to even scoff.

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he nodded dumbly, like a marionette. Nothing drifted through his mind- like the rest, it refused to cooperate. He'd spent months planning what he was going to say and in the moment of truth, he couldn't speak. In fact, he was suddenly struck by the urge to flee.

"Bloo…" Mac whispered, reaching out to hug him. The spell shattered and, as though simply waiting for their signal, his legs propelled him far, far away. Scenery blurred past; trees, benches, the odd person arriving home became background noise. Until his legs collapsed on him, he ran.

He thought he might have heard Mac scream after him, he might have even followed, but by the time he lay, panting and exhausted on a bench, he was alone. Owls hooted above, crickets chirped around, and in the heat, shapes shimmered. If Bloo could lift his right fist, he'd punch himself soundly. He'd been so close and he'd spurted away like a coward. His legs had somehow conspired against him, he decided. They couldn't take meeting Mac again and convinced the rest of his body the best thing to do was to fling Bloo away by any means.

"Who were you running from?" a sardonic voice snickered, stepping out from the shadows. Bloo stiffened, instinctively recognizing both the voice and the person to whom it belonged. He detested himself again quite passionately. He'd run from the frying pan straight into the fire, do not pass go and collect two hundred dollars.

"You!" Bloo growled, sitting up. His eyes narrowed to slits. "You ruined my life."

"Such joy to hear my favorite star greets me with glowing tones, especially after I've finally been sprung from jail."

Kip smirked, scrutinizing every inch of his former object. Though he'd been in jail, no one knew he still owned Bloo and therefore, he could reclaim him. If he weren't desperately broke, he'd spit on him and leave. Money, however, lent him interest. His old connections hadn't all turned their backs on him- he could work with this. Reinvent it, sure, but a human sold better than a shapeless blob. Just contemplating it caused a nasty smile to split his face. Bloo cringed.

Though he'd heard (and disbelieved) rumors of Kip's imprisonment, it hardly changed his reaction. Kip was a large part of the reason he hated humanity. He'd used, abused, and threatened him until, basically, there was nothing remaining to torture. Hatred for him burned deep in his veins.

Bloo cursed him off, then shifted to coax sore muscles another jaunt wouldn't ruin them. The instant he lifted himself from the bench, Kip's eyes narrowed and he shoved him back. There was no way he was letting his meal ticket flee, not when he was this close. He could practically smell the crisp hundreds.

"Such vulgarity for a ten year old, a soon to be rock star." Kip's smile broadened to an increasingly ugly grin, showcasing every single tooth he possessed, and Bloo's heart abruptly dropped into his stomach. He hadn't spent months with him to ignore the telltale mechanisms churning behind it. It was the "I'm going to screw you over" look accompanied by the "eat excrement" grin.

"I don't want anything to do with you," Bloo snapped coldly, standing only to be bowled over again. He snarled, temper at the boiling point. Why had he run from Mac? Why? If only his legs hadn't gained a mind of their own, he might be sitting next to him right now and actually eating real food instead of whatever he mooched.

"Oh, I think I can change your mind."

Kip yanked Bloo to his feet and proceeded to drag him along empty roads, filthy alleyways, and disgruntled adults, putting out the garbage or fetching an item from their cars. Bloo hit, swore, and belittled him, but Kip's grin never wavered. The burning hatred faded away, replaced by chills rippling his spine. This was the path to Mac's apartment.

"Your creator lives up there, doesn't he?" He smirked, retrieving a rather helpful item in negotiations. He'd good fortune to acquire it swiftly and he sincerely doubted Bloo would be as inclined to agree without it.

Bloo stared, stunned. If he remembered Mac's address, then he probably knew his apartment number too. Following that reasoning, it followed he could and would seriously hurt him. His insides twisted and squirmed- regardless of whether he could face him, Mac's injury because of his refusal would destroy him. He might be selfish, egotistical, and a jerk at times, but he loved his creator.

Kip, of course, was banking on this. He flicked his gun upwards, at their window, and then back, chest level with Bloo. Bloo retreated, but his eyes lingered on Kip's armed hands. Despite every cell in his body detesting the human before him, he had no choice.

"What do you want?"

Two more years passed, but Kip made due on his promise/threat. Bloo was indeed reborn as the most miserable rock star in its history. Desperate and desolate, he penned frantic pleas to Mac in his songs in the hopes he might turn on a radio and listen.

I'd like to thank everyone (MisterBlue, a.k.a. Blue, kcbs, lucyrocks73, Rakal, and A. Nonymous) for reviewing. That's it for now…so please read and review again, okay?

Until we meet again…