Author's Note/Disclaimer: This chapter was so intense, I had to take a walk in the middle of it. It might not be for you guys, though. I dunno.

Foster's is not nor ever will be mine.

Chapter Ten: Truth

Finally warm, Mac clutched a blanket to his chest and sighed happily, the contents of his recent meal resting joyfully in his stomach. His clothes, freshly cleaned, fit snugly around and for the first time in a matter of days, he felt safe and protected. He'd slept, eaten, and taken a shower- everything normal children took for granted. The rain pitter pattered patiently against the window panes and he sat, content to merely listen and soak in his appreciation of a roof. A smile broke out across his face and he glanced immediately at Bloo.

Bloo perched on the armrest and glared at his father out of the corner of his eyes. Mac, surprised, edged closer. His imaginary friend muttered uncouthly, things he'd heard him say in reference to Terrence, but never in regards to this. Every once in a while, he'd break off, glance at Mac and then his father, and continue anew. Meanwhile, he labored in the kitchen.

"Well, when are we going home?" Bloo snapped, venom taking Mac by surprise. He blinked, befuddled. Go home? But he'd only just arrived! Why would he think of leaving?

"Why…why don't you like him?" he murmured, careful to keep his voice down since only he could hear him. He didn't need his father thinking him insane, though his recent acts might say otherwise. Desperately, he wanted to make a good impression; secretly, he hoped to coax him to return and give them the father they'd missed. Perhaps it was because he was young, naïve, gullible, but he longed for a father like every other child.

Too long had he stood on the brink of the playground and heard the children chatter about their parents while he sat alone under the slide and wondered why this was his fate in life. Why his mother had to work extra long to support them and his father was MIA. Why whenever they had father son events at school, he watched them with a heavy heart. Why whenever someone brought up the grand things their father had done for them and the activities they partook in, his eyes would well up with unshed tears.

"Duh, Mac, he abandoned you!" he spat and the boy glanced away, the truth more than he could bear.

When it came to the truth, people can be rather skilled in avoiding it when it pains them. Such was the case with young Mac. He preferred to believe his father was the superhero he'd envisioned him to be who simply had to leave rather than the man who had willfully abandoned his sons and left them to their mother. He'd rather not think along that other path- it was the one that had led him here in the first place.

"He's changed!" he cried, not sure who he was convincing- Bloo or himself. Whatever the instance, his plea fell pitifully short and he nodded disbelievingly. A terrible ache wormed its way into Mac's heart and he was tempted to curl up under the sheets and release the pain inside through any means necessary.

"Sure he has, buddy. Sure he has."

Conversation silenced at the arrival of his father, but Bloo's azure eyes blazed upon his entrance. Though he could not be seen, heard, or felt by the older man, he placed himself protectively in front of his creator. He put up his lower arms in fists and posed, lunging and thrusting. Anyone viewing the whole peculiar scene might have wondered who to pity- the delusional little boy or his imaginary friend's sad attempts to waylay any danger. Truthfully, it was a tie at best. At worst, it was heartrending.

His father sat heavily down in the patched armchair opposite his son and frowned, sensing another presence but unable to identify it. Shaking his head, he instead scrutinized Mac and unconsciously calculated what physical features he inherited from him. Unabashed, he held up his head so he might see everything. Desperation, loneliness, and hope all shimmered simultaneously in his chestnut eyes and he glanced away, heart tugging at its strings. If this kid wasn't careful, he was going to get his heart broken.

"That was a very irresponsible thing you did," he began awkwardly, innately slipping into his patriarchal role. Actually, it had started once he discovered Mac on the ground. Without realizing it, he'd developed a kinship with the boy and, moreover, a subconscious desire to be more than the absentee father around him. Lamentably, at the moment, he was not ready to admit to such a thing.

"Like you have the right to say that!" Bloo thundered, hopping to his 'feet' and flinging himself at him. He growled in his face, but the adult neither heard nor felt him. He might as well have been growling at the wall for all the good it did.

"You were out of his life for years and now, all of sudden, you think you can boss him around?" he screamed and Mac hung his head. All the emotions a three year old oughtn't to have, including deep seated resentment, had apparently been buried within Bloo. Either that, or he was trying his hand at being a real friend. In either case, he wished he'd be quiet. His eyes were growing hot.

"Dad…" he whispered and Bloo hopped up again. His azure eyes blazed and he grabbed his father by the collar.

"He doesn't have the right to be called that! He's not your father! He's just a bum!" Bloo screamed, pounding his fists ineffectually against his chest. A lump surfaced in Mac's throat that would not leave. Part of him wished Bloo would be quiet and his turbulent emotions would vanish. But, on the other hand, he wished fervently Bloo was here, that his words would reverberate anywhere but in his head. Because he was right…and he knew it. And that was what hurt the most.

"I…I have to talk to you…" Mac whispered, losing heart. He'd created Bloo to be his voice, but he'd left it behind. So all he was was a shell of a child, unable to communicate properly and a failure. He was just like what Terrence said. He didn't deserve his father.

"So do I," his father countered, but halted when he saw him hang his head shamefully. Bloo jabbed an accusatory finger at his chest and snarled, too occupied with his tirade to notice his creator's plight. Indeed, in the heat of the moment, he'd forgotten everything else.

"You could have been hurt, you could have been killed-"

"And…and…" he faltered and glanced hopelessly at Bloo. Let me talk as openly as you do…for once. Let me be as bigmouthed as you are. Please. I can't handle this.

"And you're a lousy father!" Bloo finished. The more his imaginary friend spoke, the more Mac deflated. Bloo was boisterous, confident, and everything he couldn't be. Why couldn't he bring himself to say what was on the tip of his tongue? The words Terrence had screamed at him at the beginning of the week? The part of him that would have died to find out the truth? Why wouldn't it surface? What was wrong with him?

"And I'm calling your mother," he finished, reaching towards the phone, but both Bloo and Mac recklessly snatched his arm away. Their arms overlapped; fecklessness invaded his blood stream and ripped his self consciousness off. He rose, breathing raggedly, seeing only his father and no one else. Bloo blinked, glancing between his creator and his father. This might get interesting yet.

"Why? So you can keep passing me off? Is that why you left? You couldn't stand the sight of me? That's what Terrence said. He said I'm the reason you left. Is that true? Would you, mom, and him have been better off if I wasn't born? Did I screw everything up?" he blurted, tears brimming to the surface. Angrily, he rubbed his eyes with his fists. Right now, he was too frustrated and furious to waste time on tears. It simmered over, filling his body and heating him from the inside. His whole frame trembled and he found he liked it. He rarely got this excited, but when he did, a secret part of him relished the power anger held over him.

"Did I waste your life? Am I worthless? Is everything my fault?" he called, unable to stop himself. Bloo stared, stunned. Mac's accusations came too quickly for him to refute and, personally, he was rather flabbergasted. His mouth hung agape and he could do no more than shake his head slightly.

"I…I had to know, Dad. I had to know why you left. Was it because of me?" he continued, voice dropping. "Was I a mistake?"

Silence filled the room as Mac drew a deep, shaky breath, Bloo stared disbelievingly, and his father stared at his son. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say and the amount of fury emanating from him was positively frightening. If he was this furious, it stood to reason that Terrence was even more so. He'd always thought his sons would be better off with only their mother…but was he right? Or had he been unduly selfish?

"Mac," he said bracingly, waiting to see if the boy was done. He was indeed, but he breathed like a wounded horse. His eyes were narrowed to slits and his chest heaved. Out of his long bangs, chestnut eyes glared out at him and he shuddered, retreating naturally from them. He was too young to be this jaded.

"Tell me." The words were no longer delivered in orders, but a plaintive cry. Bloo shifted closer and tentatively touched his shoulder. Mac shrugged it off.

"The reasons why I left are…complicated," he said, rising from his chair and turning away so he didn't have to look at him. Again, that presence hovered nearby, the one he couldn't see, much less identify. If he extended his "inner eye", he sensed it attempting to comfort him. However, Mac continued to shrug and slide away.

"I came here to hear them. I'm not leaving until I do."

The words hung heavily in the air and he finally turned around to meet his gaze. The glare had softened, but it was still potent. He sighed, gesturing he come closer. He knew when he'd been bested and when it was time to stop protesting. Besides, he deserved to hear what a loser his father was. It was only right.

"You want to know why I left, Mac? I left because I thought I didn't know how to be a father. It was never about you. It was about the mounting responsibilities with Terrence, my job, and our straining marriage. It was about how pressured I felt to raise a child according to whatever standards people put out. It was about thinking that if I took a little time away, everything would be all right again.

"But that little time stretched into days, which stretched into months, which stretched into years. I haven't spoken to your mother since you were three, Mac. I thought running away would solve my problems- it only brought new ones.

"Now I have to live with the guilt I might have made the most selfish decision of my life and there's nothing I can do to fix it. I see now that years of resentment have hardened Terrence, at least, to the idea of me. And I can't say I blame him…I felt the same way about my father.

"Feel free to hate me as well. I've done nothing to warrant otherwise."

Once he finished, both Mac and Bloo were dumbstruck. Bloo was first to recover, muttering agreeably to his last statement. Mac, however, was not as convinced. He gazed at his father anew, finally realizing that he wasn't the superhero he'd built up in his mind. He was just human. And that, within itself, was almost as crushing as Terrence's words.

"I…" he began, but no words would come.

"I…don't hate you. I…I don't like what you did, but I don't hate you. I just want you to come home."

Eyes brimming with unshed tears, he reached out and drew Bloo into his arms. The squawking, protesting imaginary friend struggled madly, aghast at what he'd just uttered and enraged at his father. He 'cursed' and fought valiantly, but Mac's grip was too strong.

Smiling weakly, his father shook his head. "It's not that easy, kiddo. Life rarely is."

"Come home, please," he begged. I don't care if it isn't easy. We need you.

"We'll see."