Disclaimer/Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. I had a wee bit of author's block, but I cleared that up. So if some of it feels awkward, that's because it was forced. (pulls a face)

At any rate, enjoy. Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends belongs to the great Craig McCracken (as does Powerpuff Girls) and not to me.

Chapter Nine: Confrontation

Wind whistled overhead, the only sound aside from the blood pounding in Bloo's inner ears. Fury boiled his blood, blinded his sight, and curled his appendages into what passed for fists. The grass rustled underneath their feet and a bird chirped, unaware of the stalemate occurring. The instant Terrence spoke, he swore he was going to rip him a new one.

"I know I'm not really wanted here-" he began uncertainly, glancing around as if he had a cavalry waiting. Well, he needn't worry. He hardly needed an arm to beat the living crap out of him. His own body would suffice. It had in the past.

Truth be told, Bloo didn't even know where to begin with that statement. Silence descended and he shifted uncomfortably. Typical; he probably had no idea why the imaginary blob was glaring hatefully at him. Either that, or it hadn't penetrated that thick head. He'd be glad to illuminate him…and shed some heat on parts of his body normally warm enough.

"Of course you're not wanted here, but you barged in and came anyway! Just like you told Mac that it was his fault that his father left! I've got some choice words for you, buster!" Bloo snapped, jumping up and grabbing him by the collar. He sneered in his face, then grabbed his cheeks to headbutt him. Terrence reared back, rubbing his sore temples, but he wasn't finished with him. He hopped up again, wishing height wasn't against him, and punched him hard in the stomach.

Terrence doubled over, clutching his stomach, and promptly fell on his rear. Dazed grey eyes scrutinized Bloo, chest heaving and eyes narrowed to slits. He glared and then immediately hopped onto his chest. However, if he thought he actually weighed anything substantial, he was wrong. The teenager sat up, wincing, and glanced at the imaginary friend in his lap. Pure, unadulterated hatred surged through him.

"What the…? How do you…?" he moaned, confusion about to be replaced with anger. For the moment, he was too bewildered to do anything but groan and stare, perplexed. Bloo continued to glower; the physical embodiment of rage.

"He told me!" he ranted, completely unaware not only did Terrence not have the slightest idea what he was talking about, he was actually pacing back and forth on his legs. Naturally, it wasn't that far, but nonetheless, arms flailing, he shifted. Grey eyes followed his progress.

"Uh…how?" he said dumbly. "Did he call you or something?"

If he did, then maybe he told him where he is and Mom will come pick him up. Then, I'll be off the hook and this little thing can go back to annoying someone else. If he doesn't stop doing that, I'm going to smash him against my thigh.

"No, he didn't call me!" he snapped, sighing exasperatedly. He spoke as if Terrence were an incredibly slow two year old who couldn't grasp the simple concept of dream sharing. Of course, the concept wasn't that simple, but it was still too complicated for him to grasp without Bloo explaining himself at least three times. Maybe that blow to the head had affected his motor skills- or maybe he'd always been this stupid. Bloo was banking on the latter.

Once he had, he frowned lightly and said something that took him by surprise. It was actually intelligent, having been brought on by his pondering of the situation. Just because he preferred not to think didn't mean he couldn't. It meant he disliked it since it made his brain hurt, but this was important. Besides, he didn't relish another beating at the hands of his stupid little imaginary friend. And, at that, he shoved him off his lap and aimed a punch square for his head- but he dodged like a whack a mole.

"If you can dream about him, can't you tell where he is?" he said, kicking out at him. Bloo used his momentum to send him backwards into the mailbox. It struck him in the middle of his back, but he remained standing. A very nasty look crossed his features, perhaps to compete with Bloo's equally animus one.

"I can't because I don't know! It's awfully hard to tell the difference between one pipe and another!" he snarled, curling his lower arms. "Now if you don't mind, I've got better things to do than deal with you."

"You…don't know…" he repeated dully, incredulous. Bloo watched him stalk off and huffed. Served him right.

Terrence huddled against the wind and only cast Bloo one last glance before stomping off through the leaves. His eyes narrowed to slits- when he wasn't guilt wracked, he'd be sure to pay him back double for his treatment. Stupid little boy blob, feh. What gave him the right to pass judgment? He hadn't been there; he didn't know what he was going through. He had no idea the years of resentment churning within the thirteen year old nor the seething hatred that had erupted during the argument. Nor did he know the guilt pangs he now suffered due to the eruption. No, he knew nothing and therefore, should have kept his damn mouth shut.

Still, what was he to do now? His only lead turned dry and in lieu of information, he had a heavy conscience. If Mac hadn't called anyone or slipped his whereabouts, then it was another late night with his mother crying herself to sleep and a sleepless one for him. The cycle would never break.

His legs quaked under him; his whole body protested. Today, he'd walked all the way to Townsville and now, he was about ready to collapse. Fortunately, while he thought this, his body denied it. As long as he kept moving, he wouldn't have to think about anything else.

Rubble from buildings the Powerpuff Girls had destroyed littered the streets and overhead, men labored to reconstruct. Of course, many were of the opinion it was a worthless endeavor since the girls were bound to destroy more in a matter of hours, but a job was a job. Those who were desperate took it eagerly. Or, in the case of a certain brown haired individual munching a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, trying to make ends meet and forget about his two sons.

He was about average height with stormy grey eyes, a ruddy complexion, and scraggly brown hair. Age lines decorated his face as well as a few bags. Working in Townsville ensured you had to be ready for anything, including having your domicile destroyed. And, unlike most of the denizens, he really didn't particularly enjoy monster attacks, an evil monkey, and the assortment of villains thanks to the girls' powers. Fortunately, he kept his mouth shut.

Today had been oddly uneventful. No monster attacks, actually nothing out of the ordinary. He ought to have been worried.

Mac stumbled, fainting right before him. A cloud of dust and soil flew up and he coughed once, and then fell silent. The man before him placed aside his sandwich, knelt down, and scooped him up.

Bloo, once again, had no idea where he or his creator were. However, he semi approved of his surroundings. At least it was warm and, for once, Mac was nestled within the confines of a large, luxurious bed. Then again, compared to the pipe he'd slept in last night, it was probably heaven to him.

He crept closer to him, all the while eying the room capriciously. The walls were white, covered occasionally by posters. A picture on the dresser drew his attention and, shifting away from his creator, he examined it. A small, messy raven haired boy held an infant with brown hair while their mother looked on, an older man's arm around her waist. It took him a while to identify the grey eyes, considering the child was not wearing his customary smirk. He was actually…happy.

Blinds hung over a dingy window and there was some mildew on the walls. Not the best place to live by far, but not terrible considering some of the indemnities he'd incurred in Mac's apartment. A squashy armchair sat in front of a small color TV with a pair of antennae atop (no cable- that had to be criminal); a diminutive desk was overlaid with papers and pens, all in an untidy sprawl across the top. An uncomfortable chair accompanied it.

The breeze filtered in through the window as well as some sunlight. The sun, however, was setting and the breeze grew chiller. In the corner of the room, a heater kicked in and eased any cold. All together, if he had to live there, he'd decline, but he could understand someone else residing there. After all, not everyone could live luxuriously.

Mac's eyes fluttered, already slowly rousing. He beheld his imaginary friend, but his eyes lingered on the photograph. Cogs and wheels that hadn't processed properly in Bloo's brain worked like quicksilver and a smile spread across his face. It spread to his eyes, the first genuine smile he'd worn since this expedition began. Bloo, who hadn't quite figured out what on earth he had to be joyous about, opened his mouth to protest when a haggard man entered the room.

Unlike Mac, whose gaze shot from his imaginary friend to this man, the adult's eyes only caught Mac's. Like in other worlds, Bloo was invisible to everyone but his creator. However, that didn't stop him from hovering protectively in front of his creator. He snarled threats that only his creator heard and he rolled his eyes. Nonetheless, he refrained from silencing him aloud. He wasn't certain he could perceive him like he did.

"I should have figured you would chase after me…" he murmured, dragging his fingers through his hair and sighing heavily. His eyes trailed across the bedspread instead of the child within the sheets.

"Dad…"Mac whispered, trying the word out on his lips. It felt foreign, but not entirely unpleasant. Bloo jumped, scrutinizing the picture, his creator, and the man before them. Not all the pieces fell into place just yet. Instead, he crouched, ready to pounce if need be.

"Does your mother even know you're out here?" he frowned, and was about to launch into a lecture when he flung himself into his arms. Bloo balked, attempting to wrench him away. Unfortunately, he had no substance again and slipped helplessly away. On the floor, he gaped up at the two and the photo once more. Everything fell into place- the grey eyed child in the photograph was Terrence. The baby was Mac…and the two adults were his parents.

Awkwardly, he placed his arms around his son and Mac let his fevered emotions escape him in a single howl. He shivered, wondering whether it was safe to release it all, when his stomach answered for him. Sheepishly, he glanced up to see his father frown disapprovingly. His eyes swept his frame and, without another word, he scooped him up into his arms and deposited him on the brown carpet.

"First things first, young man. A meal and then a shower. Then we'll talk."

Mac grinned…and Bloo stood, thunderstruck.