Author's Note/Disclaimer: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. If you're not doing that, why not? C'mon, reviews are nice.

At any rate, Foster's does not belong to me. New eppie on tonight for us United States viewers. Yay.

Chapter Eight: Revelations

Shivering, drenched once again, and exhausted, Mac clung desperately to the railing as the contents of his stomach rebelled again. It was amazing what dire straits caused a person to do. When he had a roof over his head, steady meals, and a warm bed, he'd never have looked twice at garbage cans or their refuse. Now, driven nearly out of his mind by starvation, having only eaten one meager sandwich three days ago, he'd followed the smell of food anywhere. Unfortunately, that source and his stomach were having a rather violent disagreement.

Bile rose in his throat accompanied by vomit and he willed himself to keep it down. Clenching his eyes shut tightly, he forced himself to think about anything other than his stomach's upheavals, his gnawing hunger, the shudders that rocked his body, or his sodden clothing. It was difficult, but not impossible. It just required more focus and energy than he possessed at the moment.

Hugging himself tightly and slumping down by the bridge's side, he curled up on the sidewalk. It was late night and only the occasional car choked his air. Still, he thought, quaking so badly he thought he was going to die, maybe I'd better get off before I get hit.

Rising unsteadily to his feet, he grabbed the railing for dear life. Since the Powerpuff Girls destroyed the bridge nearly a year ago, they'd fixed it with exceedingly shoddy parts. The railing barely withstood his weight and for a split, terrifying second, he thought he would pitch headfirst into the water. Another spasm whipped his body; he whimpered and slowly edged his way down. Maybe underneath the bridge would be safer…and maybe he could keep his pilfered dinner down. He doubted it, though.

Slipping and sliding on the rocks, his foot caught on a particularly large one and he tumbled, landing on his stomach in a large mud puddle. It splattered all over him and he sputtered, spitting out soil, pebbles, and pollutants. Everything about Citiesville was corrupt, down to the people who flung things at him instead of helping and the three robbers who tried to hold up an obviously broke eight year old. He'd been too drained to do much more than let them find out for themselves he was broke and then dart for his life.

Finally, struggling to find purchase, he crept into a tunnel created when the original bridge collapsed. Bits of rubble partially covered the entrance and if he moved more, he might actually have a place safe from the elements. It was sad, that such a basic thing should actually please him when normally, he wouldn't notice. Then again, there were many things he wouldn't have noticed beforehand.

Curling up again, he hugged his knees to his chest and permitted his mind to wander. He was too cold to sleep, but he contented himself picturing whatever Bloo was doing at the moment. Closing his eyes, he weakly called out to him. Of course, he had no idea how this bond was supposed to work and sincerely disbelieved anything would come of his mental cry.

Bloo was fast asleep, warm and safe in his bed. Dinner, mac and cheese, had settled nicely in his stomach and he'd even taken a bath that night. Clean, satiated, and comfortable, he'd no trouble falling asleep swiftly. In fact, his mind hadn't drifted to his creator at all, perhaps because he was too preoccupied with beating Coco's new high score on a video game. He dreamt simply, picturing himself as head of Foster's and bossing Mr. Herriman around when something, or, rather, someone interrupted.

He reappeared underneath a creaky, rusted bridge. Stone surrounded him and a breeze whistled through the gaps in the rocks. The wind carried a hint of rain (it'd poured the last few days) and, treading a few feet, dirt squelched underneath him. He couldn't imagine anyone living here. After all, he'd passed a few rats traversing this odd configuration of rubble and rubbish.

Scowling, wondering what on earth he was doing here, of all places, he nearly tripped over a bump against the makeshift wall. It shifted, the only creature to perceive his arrival. He opened his mouth to snap at the bum when the words died on his lips. This was no bum-it was Mac.

"Mac?" he murmured, shocked. Snatching a couple of rocks, he struck them together but to no avail. The boy's eyes followed his translucent arms and, taking the hint, created a fire. Light flooded the tunnel and Bloo fell to his knees. He could scarcely believe this was the same boy he befriended years ago and had seen in real life nearly a week ago.

Shadows threw his face into sharp contrast- too many lines and bags for an eight year old boy to have. His clothing was baggier than usual and when he smiled weakly at his imaginary friend, the smile did not extend to his eyes. The longer they gazed at each other, the solider Bloo felt. He flexed experimentally and glanced downward only to discover that he was almost completely here this time. He had form, he could actually touch things, and…the sheer amount of emotions he caught in Mac's face was enough to almost steal his breath away. Almost, because he was too furious to pity him at the moment.

Exhaling sharply, he tentatively crept towards him and enveloped him in as tight a hug as he could manage. Bloo sunk slightly into his chest, but not as much as he would have before. It seemed the more Mac wanted him, the stronger his presence became. However, he wasn't going to give him the benefit of the hug first because that closeness reminded him, yet again, of his fury.

"Bloo…you came…" he whispered. "I didn't think you heard me call. I didn't think you could-"

Struggling out of his arms, he swung his arm back and slapped him hard across the face. Though he wasn't entirely solid, the force was sufficient to leave a red mark on his cheeks and, when he massaged it, he discovered it actually ached. Blinking, he glanced down at the quivering blue mass. He drew his arm back again and Mac found himself on the defensive, trying unsuccessfully to halt his assault.

"What did you think you were doing, leaving me there? I couldn't even see you for two days because you threw me out! I didn't know what you were doing and what stupid things you'd done because you didn't have me around-" Bloo snapped, stopping to berate him.

Rubbing his sore face, he shoved his imaginary friend away. Rising to his feet, his eyes blazed furiously. His fists balled and he took several threatening steps towards him. Surprised by the turn of events, Bloo retreated. He couldn't tell if it was starvation, illness, or rage causing his friend to shake like a leaf.

"Is that so?" Mac replied, voice low and dangerous. "I guess the other stupid thing I did was call on you in the first place. Next thing you know, I'll tell Terrence he was right about our father and why he left-"

He halted, realizing too late Bloo had no idea what he was talking about. Fortunately, he barged right now with his argument until the information registered. Blinking, he stared, nonplussed, at him. He wasn't quite sure what was going on here (not that had ever stopped him before).

"Wait? Terrence? Your father? What does that have to do with anything?" he replied, bewildered. "Don't confuse me."

"Nothing! Forget I mentioned it!" he squawked, sinking to his knees again, but it was too late. Once Bloo discovered a new mystery, he wouldn't let it fade away until he pried it apart. Already, wheels churned in his head and he smirked, waiting for him to let more slip. Mac turned away, ashamed he'd blurted out such an important thing in the first place.

"I know- Terrence killedyour father, buried his body somewhere, and now you're trying to find it and raise it from the dead!" he bubbled, grinning widely. Mac slapped a hand to his forehead. Terrence might be a lot of things, but a murderer was not one of them. He longed to wrap his mental shell around himself and retreat, but he couldn't. He'd let him in this far and the closer he got to him, the harder it was to separate himself before he got in too deep.

"No," he said flatly and hugged his knees to his chest. If he couldn't enact the mental one, then his body language would communicate his retreat. He stared over the top of his head and into the darkness beyond. A rat skittered by and he shuddered, freezing despite the fire's heat. He thought he'd never be warm again.

"He left because he discovered how ugly and stupid his son is and decided that-" he blathered on, unaware of his creator's eyes welling with tears. Mac's deafening roar silenced him and induced his own shudder.

"No!" he snapped, hugging himself tighter than before. Silence descended upon the tube and it was a few seconds before either spoke again. Bloo stared, taken back by the sheer amount of pain reflected in his eyes. Truth be told, they'd never discussed his father or anything before his creation. He'd always assumed Mac either didn't have a father or something had happened to him early on. He hadn't worried about it, though.

"No…" he murmured, the shout taking more out of him than he'd anticipated. The next few words escaped him barely above a whisper, causing Bloo to lean forward to catch them.

"Terrence thinks he left because of…me. That everything would have been fine if I hadn't been born…"

Trailing off, he recalled the argument in crystal clarity.

(Nearly a week ago)

"You disobeyed Mom," Terrence snapped, misty grey eyes blazing. "You had no business going."

Mac paused, backpack hanging off his right shoulder. He'd just gotten back from one of the largest disappointments in his life and here was Terrence, making it worse. He was in no mood for an argument, particularly on this particular subject. However, maybe if he ignored him, he'd go away. It was worth a shot.

"I bet he ran away."

He pivoted, mouth agape. There was a bizarre expression on his brother's face, somewhere between triumph and hatred. He scrutinized it, hoping he could predict future damage. He wasn't even close.

"So what if he did?" he replied, folding his arms across his chest. "It doesn't matter."

"Sure it does. He ran away because of you the first time and he still can't stand the sight of you," he snapped. Mac shook his head, dispelling the deep, clandestine fears his words produced, and started towards his room. Terrence followed.

"Look, I have a lot of homework to do, so if you're done-"

"I'm not. You know, this family would be perfect if you weren't in it. Dad left right after you were born. I remember. I remember the last thing they talked about- how much of a hassle you were. Dad could have dealt with me just fine, then you had to come along and ruin everything," he snapped and Mac shuddered, having the sensation he'd longed to say this for some time now and had simply waited for the proper moment.

"That's not true," he snapped back, but his blood ran cold. It could very well be true, for all he knew.

"Dad came back into town to try to patch things up with Mom, but only if you were out of the picture. He saw you and the first thing he did was run. He'd rather be a deadbeat dad than be your father," he hissed.

"But he's your father too," he pointed out, struggling against the trepidation seizing him. What if he was right? What if he was the reason they didn't have a father? What if everything had been fine until he came around? He didn't want to bear the burden of breaking apart a family. But what if it were true…

"And he would still be here, too, if it weren't for you. He never even thought of leaving until you came around. It's all your fault."

"You're lying…" he whispered, retreating into the sanctity of his room. Terrence flung up an arm to prevent his entrance and he bumped into him. There was nothing brotherly in his expression, not even remotely close.

"Didn't you ever wonder why Mom doesn't talk about him around you? She's ashamed."

The color drained from his face and he ground his fists into his eyes to stem the flood of tears. He glanced down at his feet instead of him. It was true, everything. Their mother never discussed their father, he had left when Mac was a toddler, and he had run when he saw him. It all fit in a bizarre, painfully obvious way. He had driven him away. There was no other explanation.

"I'm surprised Mom puts up with you. I mean, you broke up her marriage. You ruined a family and tore us apart. You made us who we are."

"No…" he whispered, slapping his hands over his ears. "No…"

"Yes." He grabbed his arms, yanked his hands off, and whispered the last word in his face. He swallowed hard, glancing away. His brother's eyes were too piercing, his words too hateful to stand.

"You made Dad run away. You made Mom work long hours to support us. You destroyed our happiness. You did it all."

"No…" he cried, voice choked by suppressed sobs. Terrence nodded, cementing his claims, and, unable to take any more, Mac pivoted on his heels and stomped out. He scribbled a quick note to Bloo and his mother and took off. He had to prove Terrence wrong. The truth was too horrible to bear.

Bloo stared in disbelief. His creator was sobbing openly, burying his face in his hands. He placed an awkward hand on his shoulder and the instant he accepted his comfort, the world faded and vanished. Against his will, Bloo was waking up.

Frankie gently shook the small blue blob until he awoke, eyes blazing. He began to snap something at her, but she ignored him. Crossing the room, she opened the window and gestured outside. He flung himself out of bed and followed her outstretched arm.

"Terrence is here to see…you."