Wuh-oh, what's this!? Another fanfiction?!

Yeah, so I recently rediscovered the Brave Little Toaster and rewatched it and listened to the soundtrack and generally got very obsessed. And so I decided to write something about it. Something simple. It's just like four one-shots. This is the four other nightmares. Toaster had one, why not the others?

I'm actually already finished with the whole thing, but it may be a while 'til I get the others up. This is the shortest and most simple one, Blanky's dream. The rest are progressively longer and more complicated. Hey, Blanky's rather child-like, hm?

Also, a warning. After my sister read the whole thing, she declared me sick and the dreams disturbing. Trust me, I'm not sadistic. I think. But some of the other stuff are kind of disturbing, I have to admit. They're nightmares, after all.

Please review. (Though there doesn't seem to be much of a fanbase of this on this site...)

The battery was running low. It was time to bed down for the night.

Blanky settled down as comfortably as he could. He had never been a tent before, although it was kinda like when the Master stood under him and walked around, pretending to be a ghost. Though the Master hadn't been quite this tall.

Kirby was already asleep. Radio was just finishing up his broadcast. Blanky felt tired. He had never stayed up quite so late before. In fact, there had been a lot of 'firsts' for him recently. The first time actually going out of the cottage, for instance…the childish, fuzzy blanket leaned against Toaster and smiled when he was patted affectionately. It was strange. Toaster wasn't this nice before, but maybe this journey was changing everybody.

Blanky yawned. "G'night," he said, and let his consciousness drift away. He was aware of some kind of conversation going on, but that was someone else's…he fell into a quiet slumber.

It was a nice day at the cottage. The little Master was zooming around, playing as usual. This time, he tied Blanky around his neck and ran around, pretending to fly. Blanky enjoyed the breeze as he flapped a little.

The Master was suddenly ready for bed, though, so they went upstairs to the bedroom. The boy dragged the blanket into the bathroom, where he did those usual weird human things. Some toothpaste dripped onto Blanky, but he shrugged that off.

And finally, it was time to go to bed. Blanky loved this. They slept together and cuddled against each other and it was warm and comforting.

But when the little Master came into the bedroom…something bad happened.

There was a spark, or something, and quite suddenly the Master's room was ablaze, the fire spreading quickly.

The Master was scared, Blanky could feel it. He clutched the blanket tightly and started backing away to the door, but the flame had already surrounded them. In a panic, the young boy tried to snuff out the flames with the one thing he had – Blanky.

He slammed the yellow blanket on the obstructing flames and stomped them out with him, seemingly oblivious to the cries of alarm and pain, and the red-haired boy ran for the door as soon as he found an opening. Blanky was left behind, burning away.

It was painful. He could feel his fabric curling and then falling away. Fire was everywhere. Smoke was everywhere. He couldn't move – too much was burned away. The heat was suffocating. He could feel his very face melting away and the plastic was starting to form a puddle on the charred floor.

Oh god, he wanted this to end! The small blanket wanted to cry, but couldn't. He was only a blanket after all, and his tears would swiftly evaporate anyways. So he settled for a blood-curling wail, one that lasted as long as he could hold, expressing all the pain and fear he held now.

Blanky only stopped when he thought he heard a sound. Was it someone to save him from this hell?

The sound was coming from above. Blanky tilted his melting and soot-covered face upwards and saw the flames licking greedily at the wooden ceiling, which was bulging, unable to hold up without support.

There was a crack.