Author's Note/Disclaimer: Foster's is not mine. And if you read and review, I'll reply. Not hard to figure out, now, is it?

Chapter Five: Truth

Frankie paced the kitchen angrily and kicked the metal garbage can into the corner. It clanged against the fridge and all present cringed. Herriman frowned, placing a paw on her shoulder, but she brushed it off. The instant she opened her mouth to snap at him and thus, release the guilt and anxiety over Mac and Bloo, they entered, Bloo peeking out of his jacket and muttering uncouthly. She released the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and swept the two up into a tight, bear hug. Finally, when neither could breathe, she held Mac at arm's length and then seated them.

"Well?" she snapped after a moment's pause. "What happened? I heard Bloo was captured and…"

She trailed off, inspecting him. Though he protested, she lifted him free of the chair and ran her fingers lightly over the bruises. Groans evolved into a sharp cry and he fought her wildly. The effort cost him dearly, however, and he landed heavily in Mac's lap. His breaths were deep and pained as he hurriedly concealed a now congealing blood mass on the back of his head. Apparently, there was a bit of metal submerged within and she'd nudged it.

"You have to let me take that out," she reprimanded and stepped closer to scoop him up. He retreated into Mac.

Meanwhile, Mac extricated the rabbit's foot out of his pocket and prepared to throw it out when Mr. Herriman's eyes locked on it. The color drained from his face and he snatched it out of his hands. Pale and trembling, he turned it over in his paws. Frankie stopped fussing over Bloo to glance over at him. She didn't much like his expression.

Dangling the chain between his pads, he turned towards Mac. Frankie began to speak, but he indicated silently she quiet. Hmphing, she started to interject when he spoke over her. The astonishment was replaced by cold fury burning in his eyes. He managed to maintain his composure, but the paw holding the offending article quaked. Even with gloves, he was trying not to touch it in any way, shape, or form.

"Master Mac, how did you come by this?" he said coolly, a shudder rippling through him. Under the fluorescent lights, the dried blood by the handle glittered maliciously. Apparently, she'd poached it herself. Personally, no one in the room really wanted to know how she'd gotten it as long as it was far, far away from here. The longer he held it, the more his paw trembled and, finally, Frankie placed her hand atop his to calm him.

"A girl gave it to me…well, she threw it at me," he said, frowning lightly. "Actually, come to think of it, she didn't really look like a girl. More like a humanoid imaginary friend."

After all, what humans had such bright skin they could pass for strip lights? Not even an abnormal amount of pigment or exposure to radiation would procure an odd effect like that. But it begged the question if she were an imaginary friend, why would she know about DIE and behave as though she belonged to it? No self respecting friend would join that heinous organization, regardless of the threats heaped upon them. After all, what did DIE offer other than verbal, physical, and emotional abuse?

Reflecting back on her appearance, he recalled the transformer snug around her middle. It'd been unusual enough to make him remember, since most imaginary friends hid it under clothing. They didn't like to boast of their natures, especially with DIE hovering over their shoulders like vultures. Who would be so brass as to deign superiority?

Stiffly, flinging the offending object onto the table where it lay, dormant and rather ominous, Mr. Herriman composed himself, yet every syllable communicated suppressed fury. Frankie held his paw in her hand, but the effort was wasted. He would not be waylaid by her attempts. This was a serious business and could not be ignored. Besides, every time his eyes darted to it, his stomach tumbled over. It was disgusting, but he was compelled to look at it, like someone drawn to a train wreck.

"And what did this girl look like?" he inquired, about to add more when this time, Frankie interjected. If it was possible, she was more furious than he over it. She had a pretty keen idea the symbolic nature of the object in question and her blood boiled. If looks could kill, it'd be torched to a crisp by now.

"Who cares what she looked like!" Frankie exploded, tearing her hand from his paw and pacing the room angrily. Madame Foster hobbled in and blinked, staring at her granddaughter. Narrowly, she sidestepped her lest she end up in her path of destruction. The garbage can flew another five feet, straight out the doorway. It skidded on the carpet beyond and then fell over. She cursed bitterly, but made no attempts to pick it up or the contents it spilled.

"I bet she thought it was funny to throw a rabbit foot at you," she snapped dangerously, slamming her palms on the table and leaning in so her face and Mac's were only about five inches apart. Unsettled, he swallowed hard and unconsciously pushed the chair back to separate them. An enraged Foster was a very hostile enemy, as experience had taught him well.

"I…I don't know what she thought," he murmured, glancing at Bloo for support. Still shaky, the imaginary blob positioned himself atop the counter and shoved her back. Unfortunately, the gesture was utterly useless. She shoved him over and only quick thinking led him to a relatively safe position on Mac's lap.

Musing aloud, he blurted, "I think she said that this was some sort of warning to Herriman…that she'd cut off his real foot and use his pelt as a belt."

The instant the words left his lips, he regretted it. A cacophony erupted, not the slightest of which was Frankie. The metal garbage can soared through the living room, slammed into a nearby wall behind the couch and spooked Eduardo into, once again, grabbing Wilt. Wilt, nonplussed, attempted to placate the now terrified guardian friend into calming down, but it was no use, not while Frankie was ranting and raving. They and everyone in the kitchen had to simply hang on for the ride (Mac and Bloo grabbed each other in a terror hug).

"What the hell is wrong with this girl!" she screamed, pacing angrily back and forth. Madame Foster darted out of the way again and seated herself before she found herself in harm's way. Fury blazed in Frankie's eyes and her fists balled. Bloo pressed himself against Mac and tried not to make too much noise. She might flip out on him he wasn't careful.

"Who does she think she is? How dare she say that! When I get my hands on her, I'll wear her as a belt! I'll carry her foot around in my pocket!" she roared and whirled around, red hair flashing. It wasn't hard to picture it bursting into flames and then crackling at her temples.

Herriman tapped her on the shoulder, but she flung away his arm. Mac had the impression nothing quiet and meek would stop her rampage. She was like a raging tornado, especially with the way her hair kept whipping around. He longed to leave, but like Bloo, was terrified of being the new focus. Maybe it was better to let her die down of her own accord, whenever that was. The way she was going, it wouldn't be any time soon.

"Threaten my Herriman, will she?" she snarled. "I'll show her!"

"Miss Frances," Herriman said warningly, clearing his throat. Frankie stomped off, oblivious. In the relative quiet following her speech, her steps rang throughout the home. Eduardo whimpered, pressing his face into Wilt's soft red fur. Wilt, still stunned, tentatively wrapped an arm around him and stroked him.

Meanwhile, Bloo, who had buried his own face in Mac's stomach, glanced up to ascertain whether it was over. It wasn't and he returned to his place, wrapping his arms around him. Idly, Mac caressed the top of his head, careful to avoid any bruises. When this was over, he'd have to bandage him up and rub ointment on everything else. He hardly doubted Bloo would stay still for the task, but it was either that or let the wounds fester, which he had no intention of doing.

"They all think they're so high and mighty, well, I have news for them! No one hurts my H-"

"Frankie!" Mr. Herriman interjected and finally, she turned towards him. If she could, she'd probably snort fire.

"What?"

"What are you doing?" he said, frowning. Are you trying to expose us?

Deep crimson burned her cheeks and she hung her head. She couldn't help it- thinking about anyone hurting him enraged her, despite its very real possibility. That didn't excuse her behavior, though. And his own creator hadn't gotten as worked up as her, either. In fact, she was giving her a very odd look, acknowledging she'd gone overboard.

"I think I'm going to go check on Eduardo," she blurted, mortified. She darted out of the room, up the stairs, and into the closest room to the surface. Silence reigned after her passing; it was marred only by their breathing. Bloo poked his head out, Eduardo stopped clinging to Wilt, and Herriman cleared his throat.

Finally, sighing heavily, Madame Foster quietly slipped out of her seat, indicated Herriman follow her, and the two started off after her.

The world before DIE was like a fairy tale, told to good little boys, girls, and imaginary friends before bed. Though some areas were sugarcoated, the overall message was the same- before DIE, we were free. Always, the story was given a superfluous ending to represent their soon triumph over adversity, yet as the children and friends grew older, they soon saw how thin it really was. There was no sudden, terrible downfall of DIE and its followers. There was no silver lining, only clouds. And like their parents before them, the children became afraid…not of what bumps in the night, but what shoots in the day.