A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and, uh, enjoy? Foster's is not mine. :P Oh, and keep reviewing!

Chapter Three: Shock

Mac gingerly rubbed the top of his head and swallowed hard, the past few hours rushing back to him. Cars sped past him and whenever a truck joined them, the bottom of his stomach collapsed. He had no idea what had happened, but he hadn't liked it in the slightest. Not to mention he could have sworn Bloo was there too, watching silently. That alone made him feel worse than the actual incident- he'd run off without so much as an explanation and now his imaginary friend was subject to his experiences without protection? He didn't know what to think.

One thing was for certain; he wasn't going to hitchhike again any time soon. Frowning, he traveled down the endless road, the moon his only companion. It was hours later when he stumbled, bleary eyed, and collapsed in another ditch.

Bloo slept badly. He'd scarcely dropped his head to the pillow when Herriman bustled in, demanding everyone eat breakfast. He'd never been more sorely tempted to tell that rabbit where to go and how he might wish to get there. Of course, such dictums were usually beyond what he'd say, even when he was cross, but he didn't care. Normal dreams paled in comparison to his connection with his creator and being shunted into them frustrated him. As upsetting as the first dream had been, it was his only tie.

Angrily shoving aside his bed sheets, he dropped out of bed and dragged himself down the corridors and to the dining hall. Unlike usual, his stomach never rumbled and he'd thought he'd sooner vomit than scarf down food. The very notion rocked his stomach nauseously and he grabbed a banister to steady himself. Maybe he should just skip breakfast. His stomach didn't want any part of it.

"Master Blooregard," Mr. Herriman snapped, jarring him out of wishful thoughts of evading everyone this morning. He tapped an impatient paw and directed the blob towards the table. Bloo glared at him and everyone else he came into contact with. He muttered a few choice words and they backed away, taken aback.

"I do suppose you know to make yourself a bowl of cereal? When you are finished, Madame Foster would like to speak with you," he said, bowing respectively to his creator and motioning politely at passing imaginary friends. Bloo shoved his chair back, knocking into the rabbit, and glowered. His appendages balled and a wave of loathing swept him. It wasn't truly loathing for the rabbit, though that might have been part of it, but for the situation he'd been thrust into and the relative helplessness he endured.

"I'm not hungry," Bloo snapped petulantly. "Let's get this over with."

Mr. Herriman's expression never wavered in the slightest. Instead, he motioned towards the bowls on an adjourning table and indicated a cereal box in the kitchen. Apparently, he wouldn't take no for an answer. Eyes drifted towards them and then lazily back. There might be an argument brewing, there might not. There certainly was an element of insolence in Bloo that hadn't been there yesterday.

"You will eat."

"And what if I don't?" Bloo retorted, folding his arms across his chest. "What are you going to do about it, rabbit? Throw me out? Put me up for adoption?"

Mr. Herriman's eyes narrowed and he leaned over to whisper where Bloo probably had ears. Their faces were an inch apart and immense dislike radiated off both. Frankie, entering the room with a tray full of eggs for imaginary friends who she didn't trust to cook, halted. She glanced at her grandmother and then at the situation at hand. Bloo was testy already and Herriman clearly hated the imaginary blob. This couldn't end well unless someone stopped it before it escalated any further.

"Don't tempt me. You are already on thin ice in this house and it is only through our charity that you remain here. You forget that Mac is no longer here to visit you- I would not be surprised if you were to be placed for adoption relatively soon," he hissed, unaware of Madame Foster speeding to the scene and her granddaughter on her tail. The dining hall fell silent, all listening in on this scandal.

"Is that a threat, Funny Bunny?" Bloo retorted. Unlike Madame Foster, this use of his nickname was clearly intended as an insult. Herriman flinched momentarily, and then drew himself up to his full height. Bloo had to glare up.

"No, it is a promise," he hissed and would have said more, but a sharp rap on his spine silenced him. Madame Foster's eyes were steely and cold and Frankie, standing behind her, mirrored her expression. The younger Foster folded her arms across her chest and glared at Herriman so heatedly, he instinctively recoiled.

"Enough!" Madame Foster snapped, glaring at the two. "Mr. Herriman, I expected better of you. You should know better than to rise to someone's bait."

He hung his head, properly chastised, though he couldn't help but bite back an impatient snort. It wasn't exactly a secret how much he loathed Bloo; he did have a punching bag with his face on it. Mac's return every day sealed the deal that Bloo would never be adopted, but now that Mac was out of the picture…

Madame Foster's glare intensified- she knew where his thoughts lay. Nodding to Frankie, the two dragged them out into the hall and into an unused office. Herriman and Bloo hadn't stopped glaring at each other and Madame Foster had to whack her friend a few more times before he stopped entirely, rubbing his wounded sides. It ought to be illegal to use that cane as a weapon.

Flopping into a cushy arm chair, she at first admired it and then swirled around to regard them. Herriman reluctantly selected a plastic one in front and Bloo stood defiantly in the back. Frankie tried to get him to sit or at least move forward, but he merely bared his teeth and growled like a feral animal. She shivered, unsettled.

"Bloo is not going to be up for adoption, Mr. Herriman, and you have no right to threaten that. In case you might have forgotten, I am the head of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends and I dictate who is to be put up for adoption. I would no sooner put him up for adoption than I would you.

"That being said, you must also understand that, personal feelings aside, you cannot treat Bloo as you have in the past-"

At this, Herriman balked. What, relax his rules for this little monster? What was so special about him? He'd had one stupid dream and all of a sudden, he was above the law? That was preposterous. It was nonsense like this that gave him such a large head in the first place. No other imaginary friend pranced around like they owned the place and challenged his authority and he stated this succinctly. Surely his creator saw sense.

Interrupting him, her eyes glinting peculiarly, she focused her attention on the smallest creature in the room. Bloo glared back, hostility apparently abundant for everyone and anyone. However, she never faltered. She'd dealt with surly imaginary friends in the past who had less reason to be so than him. Therefore, she wouldn't begrudge him his temper. It was the only thing keeping him from screaming in frustration.

"Bloo, dearie, how well did you sleep last night after your little experience with Mac?" she inquired gently, ignoring his hostility.

"I didn't get any sleep at all. I kept having stupid dreams about stupid things. This whole thing is stupid- why can't I see Mac when I want to?" he snapped, glaring at Madame Foster like it was her fault he couldn't be with his creator and as though she'd driven him away. She only smiled mysteriously, to which Bloo uttered a growl and pounded a nearby bookcase. She understood his frustration, she did, but he had to understand a few things himself.

"Sweetie, you can't see Mac when you want to. When he's unconscious, you can't tap into anything because there's nothing there. You can only see him if you go to sleep when he's awake."

Bloo, unable to contain himself, burst out, "What if I never see Mac again, then? What if I go to sleep when he does and I don't wake up in time? Or something happens to him and I can't help him because I'm awake? Or-"

Sighing heavily, nodding towards Mr. Herriman, she said gravely, "I might be completely incorrect in this, but there's nothing you can do while you're in the dream either. It doesn't matter if you dream of him in a dangerous situation because unless you can pinpoint the location and arrive there before he seriously gets hurt, you'll be too late to do anything. I know it sounds frustrating, but there's nothing you can do at the moment."

Frankie frowned, following up on her grandmother's words. "You're going to have to deal with it-"

"Deal with what?" Bloo cried, stricken. "Not being able to see Mac again? Not being able to help him when he needs me? Seeing him being touched by some trucker and feeling him and standing there, doing nothing? How can you sit there and tell me this isn't-"

"Maddening? We know," Madame Foster said, a small smile flitting across her features. "Lesser imaginary friends than you have gone completely insane, seeing what they couldn't stop. One saw their creator's death and lost it."

The color drained from Bloo's face until he resembled a towel. He mumbled and clung to the doorway for dear life. Madame Foster chuckled at the memory, pitying the poor creature, then stopped abruptly at his reaction. Mr. Herriman stared at the two and swallowed hard, finally grasping the depth of the situation. To his credit, Bloo took this very seriously…since the idea of seeing Mac die before his eyes petrified him.

"Oh, don't worry, dearie. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out where he is in time- and even if you don't, he's resourceful enough to keep himself out of that type of situation," she assured him, but she might as well have been assuring a brick wall for all the good it did. In a daze, Bloo wandered outside and ignored Wilt, Coco, and Ed's calls. He was too horror struck to contemplate anything other than the absolutely wretched concept of his creator dying while he watched. It was almost as bad as killing him…

Dodging imaginary friends up the stairs and through the corridors, Bloo flung himself at his bed and willed himself to sleep. After an hour of staring at the ceiling again, he finally dozed off, but no dreams of Mac came.