Author's Note/Disclaimer: I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, including the two anonymous reviews (who might have been from the same person). Well, here's the seventh chapter, hope you enjoy it. And anyone who knows me well will know what I'm hinting at in the final scene.
Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends is not mine.
Chapter Seven: Separation
Tears, crimson like the blood pouring down his cheek, mingled with sweat. Rain drenched the young eight year old and he shivered, hugging his soaked red sweater and white long sleeve to himself in a vain attempt to maintain warmth. Last night's windstorm escalated to a veritable thunderstorm, resplendent with howling gusts of wind and thunderous booms that shook him to his very marrow. He whimpered, wiping his face again.
Lightning illuminated the sky and, in the far distance, the dilapidated house he'd claimed his own for a mere four hours loomed in the background. He gingerly massaged his tender cheeks, both of which wore leather boot marks. Five minutes after breaking ties with Bloo, he'd awoken to find a man leering down at him and threatening him until he left. The bruises came because he hadn't been swift enough to either retaliate or protect himself.
However, this latest batch resulted from slipping headfirst into the mud and greeting a long, sharp rock with his cheek. Now a long, jagged scar ran under his right eye to the cheek and he winced, wishing the blood would cot. The only saving grace to this wretched endeavor was Bloo's disappearance- he'd rather not ponder the repercussions of his actions regarding his imaginary friend. It was one less thing to worry about…and with the amount of things going wrong, he certainly required a mini break.
Halting and narrowly sidestepping a car threatening to splash him in dirty water, Mac took stock of his situation. He was eight years, traveling alone on a deserted road and completely uncertain of both his destination and his current location; he was ravenous, parched, and drenched, not to mention horribly naïve and alone. He wished he'd never started this in the first place. He wished he were at home with Terrence because anything was better than this.
Tears streaked his cheeks but were indistinguishable in the veritable flood drowning him. Mac's body quaked and he hurriedly bit his lip, though why he was trying to prevent sobs was beyond him. Perhaps because tears were the last thing he had control over, considering everything else had gone terribly wrong, and he needed a little self control. Yet no matter how mature he might appear to be, no matter how well he handled his mother's taxes and paperwork, no matter how many times he'd made dinner for himself and Terrence, no matter what he told himself- he was essentially a lost little boy who longed for the comforts of home or at least his imaginary friend.
Head hung dejectedly low; he passed the sign announcing Citiesville, ten miles away. Unfortunately, this meant nothing to him, not knowing the geography of the world both he and the Powerpuff Girls resided in. Citiesville was the largest city around and about twenty minutes by car from Townsville. Unfortunately, it also had the largest crime rate and drug rate around. He was wandering out of the frying pan…and straight into the fire.
Bloo rolled over onto his stomach and stared up at the bunk Eduardo occupied. He clenched his eyes shut, suppressed a shudder, and attempted to force himself to sleep. When that didn't work, he swore mildly (what he conceived as a swear) under his breath and punched the pillow. Frustrated to no end, he growled and glared up.
What, all of a sudden he'd developed insomnia? This was insane. He never normally had a problem falling asleep, but now he couldn't if his life depended on it. He screamed into the pillow (and somehow managed to avoid waking anyone) and finally flung it aside, frustrated to no end. Maybe a warm glass of milk would make him drowsy.
Tossing aside the blankets haphazardly and muttering uncouthly under his breath, he shuffled out the door and towards the kitchen. His steps echoed in the empty hallways, unlit and foreboding in the darkness. Normally, he wouldn't mind treading the well worn path, but imagination and anxiety overwrought him. In the dark, anything and anyone could be someone waiting to spring on him. Worse, they could be waiting to spring on Mac since he wasn't there to protect him.
A single sliver of moon shone dazedly through an open window and cool air flooded the corridor. It carried a hint of winter on its lips, since it was now late November. He shivered, rubbing his lower half of his arms along the upper. Unfortunately, the chill had penetrated his heart, for which rubbing and snuggling under the covers would do little. Still, he was optimistic. Perhaps a little milk would cure what ailed him and ensure he prevented Mac from making another stupid mistake.
Like abandoning me in the first place, he thought, frowning. The next time he spoke to him, the outdoors were going to be the least of his concerns. When he-
Yet whispered voices in the hall silenced his rant. Creeping along the wall, he cocked his head in their direction. Frankie, Madame Foster, and Mr. Herriman were clustered around Frankie's door and all three shot ominous glances outward, as if they mentally sensed his presence. Fortunately, the dim light bathing the hall wasn't sufficient to expose him and he slowed his breathing just in case. However, he needn't have bothered- their discussion was heated enough to overlook him.
"And you were planning on telling him this when?" Frankie hissed, folding her arms across his chest. Mr. Herriman tapped his paw impatiently by her side and scrutinized his pocket watch. It was two thirty in the morning and Bloo knew intrinsically he was counting the wasted seconds of slumber. Either that or the two Fosters had captured him en route to the bathroom.
"It is none of his business! Now, if you two don't mind, I would like to regain the shut-eye ill afforded in this house and often interrupted-" he retorted, irritation creeping into his voice. He tapped his paw hard and nearly careened into Frankie's pink rabbit slippers. Blushing slightly, he shifted away before accidentally stepping on her foot.
"Hang on just a gosh darn minute, Funny Bunny! You're not going anywhere!" Madame Foster snapped, brandishing her cane. Herriman hung back, like a scolded schoolboy. Bloo bit back a snicker, always enjoying the imaginary rabbit being reprimanded by his creator. Of course, he was frequently chewed out by his creator, but because this was Herriman and Madame Foster, he found it greatly amusing.
"You weren't going to tell him?" the younger Foster asked, frowning, her red eyebrow vanishing into the nest of tumbled, disheveled auburn fire. A snug pink bathrobe concealed her sheer pink tank top and partially concealed her rabbit pajama bottoms. For someone who constantly wore a Powerpuff Girls' t-shirt, you'd think she'd wear that to bed instead. Yet the details escaped Bloo's eyes, probably because he was too busy wondering what they were keeping from him. In his mind, every conversation revolved around him and if it didn't, it should.
"Why should I? Unless the matter has arisen," Mr. Herriman replied, looking pained, "there is no need to alert him."
"Codswallop! He needs to be ahead of the times so when Mac tries to shove him away and keep him awake, he'll know!" Madame Foster retorted, pounding her cane on the floor. It was a miracle no one else awoke thanks to the clatter. Meanwhile, as Herriman swallowed hard and unwillingly focused his attention on his creator, Frankie cast him a sidelong look and stopped abruptly when her grandmother glanced at her instead. It was too dark to tell her reaction, unfortunately.
Nonetheless, Bloo was through with listening in. He burst out of the shadows and glared at the trio, Herriman unconsciously shifting further away from Frankie. Not troubling to keep his voice down, his mouth and his brain had a short agreement not to bother each other. Therefore, anything he said wouldn't have reached the top first. Unfortunately, this was pretty much common practice for him anyway.
"So that's the reason I can't sleep!" Bloo snapped, slamming his "foot" or whatever passed for it down on the wooden floor. No wonder Frankie and Madame Foster had slippers- it was cold. And Herriman, in his nightie- he stifled a snicker, deciding he was angrier with them than amused by his outfit.
"Mac's keeping me up!"
They exchanged an indiscernible look, Frankie and Herriman prolonging it perhaps longer than they should have, and then turned to him. Madame Foster took the opportunity to rap an unguarded rabbit on the backside with her cane and he leapt back with a yelp. She smirked, twirling it around, satisfied. Frankie smirked back.
Smirking at her creation, she fixed him with an "I told you so" smirk and then, rapping him again on the paw, but gently, she turned to Bloo. The same heights permitted her to speak, in her opinion, more clearly to him than anyone else. Frankie and Mr. Herriman hung back, oddly aware of how close they were and then shifting away a little more.
"He knows you're watching him, then," she replied calmly, ignoring the other two. Frankie yawned, covering her mouth since she didn't relish an etiquette lesson this early in the morning. Herriman, conversely, was too stiff and reserved to yawn, albeit in front of them.
"Well, of course he knows I'm watching him! We had a dream together!" Bloo exploded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and they were mentally handicapped not to understand it as simply as he did. Occupants in other rooms stirred, but had the common sense to remain in their rooms. Any argument between Bloo and Mr. Herriman was liable to get ugly.
"Did you now?" she replied calmly, an eerie silence coating them. Frankie hovered indecisively towards her door, since she knew well enough that this didn't concern her in the slightest. Herriman moved forward slightly and she halted guiltily, like escaping the situation was somehow an infraction of the rules.
"Duh! Now, how do I get him to let me back in?" he replied impatiently. Madame Foster and Herriman now exchanged a look and Bloo pounded his foot on the floor; he was sick of all these stupid looks. Why couldn't anyone tell him what the hell was going on here? What, he wasn't important enough to know? Well, Herriman evidently thought that, but he never really cared what he thought anyway.
"That…depends. You might not be able to get back in…" she murmured, wondering how much she could entrust him with. Herriman frowned, shaking his head vehemently. Apparently, in his opinion, a little was too much.
"What?" he fired back, hopping up and down in outrage. "What do you mean, 'not be able to get back in'? Mac's going to let me back in or I'll, I'll-"
"You'll what?" Herriman snapped, exhaustion and temper getting the better of him. "Threaten him to death when he can't even hear you? You'd have better luck if you simply tried avoiding dreaming of him for a few days and then slipped back in once his defenses were lowered again."
He blinked, glancing around, abashed. Madame Foster gave him an encouraging smile and he blushed softly, standing upright proudly. Frankie was torn between rolling her eyes and smiling encouragingly as well and simply folded her arms across her chest. Bloo stared, sensing a mental undercurrent between creator and creation.
"I think a couple days ought to do the trick, dearie," she said consolingly, but Bloo was far from soothed. He gawked, completely at a loss. Not see Mac for two days? It was bad enough he couldn't contact him and he was alone, traveling to who knows here- but now he couldn't even protect him from afar or try to? If the last few days were any indication, the book smart eight year old wouldn't survive the lapse.
"But what if-" he protested, unnerved.
"Then he'll come to you, one way or another."