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Oh, and Foster's doesn't belong to me.

Chapter Two: Powerless

Bloo curled up under the blankets and stared up expressionlessly at the ceiling. Wilt poked his head out underneath to scrutinize the blue imaginary friend, but he said nothing. In fact, he hadn't said anything all night. He responded in shakes, nods, or growls. It unnerved everyone, yet they kept mum about it. Perhaps it'd pass by the morning.

"(Good night, Bloo, Ed, and Wilt)," Coco murmured and two of the three answered. Bloo groaned, curled up tighter, and shoved his face into the pillow. Wilt swallowed hard and shut his good eye. This was not going to be a fun night.

Tears brimmed in his eyes and he bit back a moan. Wherever you are, Mac, buddy…please show me.

As a certain ghost might say on Danny Phantom, "So you wish it, so it shall be…"

Bloo blinked, only he wasn't there to blink. In fact, when he glanced down, he didn't see himself at all. Peculiar- normally when creatures have dreams, they're in said dreams. But he didn't recognize this place at all. It wasn't fake at all…something was very off. This didn't feel like a dream at all.

Miles of highway expanse stretched as far as the eye could see and he slowly drifted down, finally landing beside a very familiar brown haired eight year old boy. He wanted to wave his arms and scream at him, but he had no voice or figure. Instead, he watched powerlessly as a truck driver pulled up beside his creator. Cold, bloodshot eyes lustily scrutinized him and Bloo yearned to scream, shriek, or otherwise get his attention. Nothing worked.

"Where are you goin'?" he asked in a would be casual voice. Raven hair decorated his lips in a mustache and his hair needed a good trim elsewhere. Bloo only had to glance at him to know Mac shouldn't be ten miles near him, much less sharing a compartment.

"I…I don't know," Mac replied honestly and Bloo punched him in the arm- only he had no form and the air never moved. He tried screaming in his ear, but he never flinched. Bloo yearned to scream in frustration. He was here, but he wasn't here at all. Goddamn it!

"Why don't you come along for the ride, then?" he smiled innocuously and pulled over to permit Mac to enter. That he did, sitting swiftly and apparently ignoring the way his eyes lingered on his chest and his lap. Bloo prostrated himself in front of his creator protectively but he was less than a ghost. He was lingering here, as able as the glovebox to defend him.

One hand remained on the wheel as he pulled off the side and back onto the road. The truck started in the same direction, towards the next city. The machine in and of itself posed no risk. Bloo trusted it instinctively. The man driving it, however, was another story.

The right hand, no longer near the wheel, slid onto Mac's lap. Mac swallowed hard, eyeing it warily, but not entirely certain what was going on. Bloo didn't know either. In fact, he knew far less at this point. All he understood was a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and warning bells in his head telling him that Mac should get the hell out of there or he'd get seriously hurt. He tried to communicate this, but, like before, he was completely unable to. He wanted to cry- and, outside, in the real world, he was.

"What are you doing?" Mac whispered and he extracted the hand. Bloo sighed, relieved, but he glared at the driver. If he managed to escape this unscathed, it'd be a miracle. And, somehow, he wasn't holding out for a miracle.

What was in his lap, anyway? He was diabetic, so it wouldn't be candy he was looking for. While he puzzled that one out, the driver was making an excuse no one bought. His excuse derailed his train of thought and brought him back to the present. Mac shouldn't be here.

"Uh, right," he replied and glanced out the window. In the night, streetlamps illuminated an otherwise bleak scene. Bloo's eyes, however, flicked towards the outdoors and then again to the man. He scanned every inch of him, from his mustache to his baggy, stained t-shirt and blue jeans. The man was too springy and lean for his tastes. He smelled a rat.

They traveled in relative silence for the next hour, but his eyes kept traveling his body and he licked his lips. Mac winced, turning away. He was uncomfortable, but he thought keeping his mouth shut would help. Unfortunately, that practice worked with Terrence and not in the real world. He was too shy for his own good…that was why he needed Bloo. Without his imaginary friend, he couldn't speak up.

"If you want, you could stay here and travel with me," he said, shattering the silence. Mac glanced at him and shivered, but not because he was suddenly experiencing all the worry Bloo was. He suddenly sensed Bloo and Bloo smiled weakly, only he had no mouth to lift. Yet the instant he noticed, things went from bad to worse.

Taking advantage of his momentary lapse (since he was too busy trying to figure out what was going on); he slid his hand back onto his lap and headed towards his groin. Bloo screamed soundlessly, the actual sound occurring in the real world, and trembled badly. He had no idea what was going on, but he could tell he was going to hurt him. He tried to fling himself at the stranger, tried to snap, bite, or screech, but nothing happened. He could only watch in dull horror as his hand groped around.

Fortunately, Mac wasn't one to sit and take it. He squirmed, reaching for the door lock, and opened it, rolling out of the car and onto the freeway. He tumbled head over heels into a bush on the side of the road and the combination of shock and dismay knocked him out…and Bloo woke up.

Voices, ones he ought to recognize but couldn't currently, murmured around him. All he remembered as the man's hand on Mac and a terrible, horrible sensation of being a helpless bystander. He quaked again, crying his creator's name over and over as though the shock would wear off and he'd suddenly appear. No such thing occurred.

"It's a good thing you took my advice, Frankie," an elderly woman said and he shifted in her direction. Like the others, he ought to be able to identify her, but it eluded him. Besides, there were more pressing matters…like whatever had happened just now. Tears streamed down his face, but he barely felt them.

A sharp rap on someone's head and the recipient groaned, rubbing it gingerly. He hopped towards Bloo's bedside and, once again, he felt he ought to know who that was. However, this time, it came to him. Everything faded in clearly and he opened his eyes to find Frankie, Mr. Herriman, Madame Foster, Coco, Wilt, and Eduardo in his room.

"What's going on?" he asked groggily, rubbing his wet eyes. He blinked, surprised to discover tears. The dream flashed before his mind painfully and he groaned, doubled over.

"Where's Mac?"

No one responded, though Madame Foster's eyes shot towards Mr. Herriman and Frankie glanced at the floor. Wilt and Eduardo glanced at each other and Coco shook her head mournfully. Silence descended upon the small room and Bloo screamed. It was a horrific wail, brought on by the scene he'd inexplicably witnessed and his reactions. He collapsed into the pillow and continued, sound muffled by the cotton. No one spoke.

"I just saw him!" he cried, frustrated tears brimming to the surface again. He spun around like they were hiding him somewhere and holding back simply to irritate him. In fact, his eyes scrutinized each accusingly, but none of them looked to be in league with the driver. He was bewildered, frustrated, utterly clueless, and thoroughly enraged with everyone in the room for not speaking to him.

"We…we know, Bloo," Frankie said finally. "You were screaming his name."

"You were having a nightmare-" Mr. Herriman began, but another sharp rap from his creator silenced him. She glared and he withdrew, folding his arms across his chest and sniffing disapprovingly. A weak smile hugged her lips briefly and then disappeared again.

"You were not having a nightmare, nor were you having a dream. Do you understand?" she interjected and Wilt, Coco, and Ed shook their heads. However, since she was not speaking to them, she ignored them. Instead, she focused her beady eyes on Bloo.

He shook his head, not quite comprehending. "It didn't feel like any dream I've had before. It was so real..."

"That's because it wasn't a dream-it was real. Anything and everything you saw happening to Mac was happening while you were asleep. You weren't dreaming it- you were seeing it.

"From what my Funny Bunny tells me, you can't control your reactions in this. You can scream, rant, and rave, but only in real life. You have no body otherwise. And from what my granddaughter told me, you were doing a lot of those three. What did you see?"

Bloo stared back, nonplussed. Horror sank in, but it wasn't as strong as before. Somehow, he'd already suspected the dream was more than it appeared. Somehow, unconsciously, he'd realized it was happening. Unfortunately, that made him feel worse, not better. At least under the guise of a dream, one could write it off and hope it never transpired. Now he didn't have that safety net.

Panic stricken, he sprang forward, fully intending to somehow locate his creator and rescue him, but Eduardo pinned him down. It took both paws and the addition of Frankie to fully immobilize him. Once this was accomplished, Ed experimentally removed a paw and Bloo began to struggle madly again. Frankie darted out, retrieved a straitjacket, whispered an apology, and wrapped it around him until he stopped, glaring at everyone and muttering under his breath.

"You don't even know where he is!" Frankie protested, wincing in the face of his fierce gaze.

"But I can figure it out!" Bloo responded, stubborn as always. However, his conviction faded somewhat. He really had no idea where Mac was. How was going to locate him if not through pure, dumb luck? Normally, he'd be gung ho about it, but in this straitjacket and in the light of his experience, he wasn't so enthusiastic.

"He could be miles from here…" Wilt reasoned.

"And that driver could come back and hurt him!" Bloo moaned, tears brimming again. Herriman, Frankie, and Madame Foster exchanged an odd look and then glanced at him.

"What driver?" Frankie said, frowning lightly.

Swallowing hard, glaring alternately, he explained what he'd seen. When he finished, those who understood were the color of sour milk. Frankie shook her head wordlessly and they exited, leaving the four imaginary friends to themselves. This was worse than they'd thought.