This was sitting in the "It's Legend" folder since October of 2015. The ending chapter. It's a little rushed, but closure nonetheless. Enjoy!

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"They deserve it," Helga shot back with a pointed glare at the boy as he watched her feverishly jam buttons on her phone as she explained her plan to Phoebe through furious texts. Normally she hated anyone watching her type, but the proximity of Arnold's cheek to hers was worth it as he scanned the messages as she sent them.

"But what if we're wrong? What if it's not Stinky and Sid?" he pressed, his breath warm against her ear as she spoke. A shudder darted up her spine, causing him to add, "Are you cold? You need a jacket?"

Typical, kind Arnoldo. "You don't have a jacket, Einstein," she pointed outed, trying to keep her voice from betraying her butterflies.

"You can have my overshirt! Here." He grunted, his lanky arms flailing as he shrugged out of the dirty button down, draping it over her shoulders. "Not much, but it's useful!" He grinned, his cheeks a rosy pink against the various dirt smudges. "So what'd she say?"

Helga blinked, confused until Arnold gave a glance at her phone, which she still had clamped in a death trap between her fingers. She hadn't even felt the buzz – well, the phone buzz. "Oh! Uh, she says she and Gerald will meet us back by the bonfire as soon as they can. Curly and Rhonda are staying in your truck. So you might want to do some deep cleaning in that thing sometime soon." She hit the power button, stowing the phone in her jeans pocket before allowing herself to adjust herself into Arnold's shirt.

"So do you think it'll work?" he asked as they began to pick their way the short distance back to the fire. Helga pursed his lips in response. "I'm not sure what that means."

"It means I'm pretty sure my idea is fantastic," she replied, using her hands for emphasis as she spoke. "I just need you and Geraldo to be the fireside girls you used to be and-"

"Hey now, we were never actually fireside girls!" Arnold retorted defensively, frowning.

"Whatever, be a boy scout. I don't care."

"…We'll do our best," he responded hesitantly, giving a firm nod of assurance as they arrived back at the fire. Harold was still picking at the remaining hot dogs, though looking thoroughly more nervous than when they had left him all of ten minutes ago.

"Come on lardo, stop being so nervous. I've got a job for you," Helga said with a wide smile as she jumped over the arranged logs to plop down beside Harold. She threw an arm around him, plucking the hotdog dangling from his mouth. "Don't eat too much, we need some bait."

Harold looked at Helga, then back at Arnold who had taken post standing in front of him with a mischievous smile of his own.

"Awww, come on!" he groaned.

Harold tried to keep his knees from being Jell-o as he slowly made his way down the trail. Gerald and Arnold had taken time to explain exactly what they needed him to do, and had there not been a whopping amount of Mr. Fudgey bars agreed upon, Harold knew he'd still be waiting on that log safely close to the fire. He'd gotten his signal after about twenty minutes of waiting, too nervous to even eat anymore of the hotdogs. In fact, he was already regretting what he had eaten as his stomached gave a nervous churn.

He peered around the darkness with a whimper, his flashlight not much comfort. "Okay," he muttered to himself, "go until you see the tree with the bark chipped off. Then start yelling." He peered around him, finally spotting the tree nearby with distinct knife scratches in it. He took a deep breath.

"Hey, is anyone out there? I'm all outta hotdogs back at camp. I'm getting kinda bored waiting on you guys!" he said loudly, continuing his stream of aimless sentences. After a few minutes he heard a distinct shuffling behind him. "Guys?" he yelped, his voice raising an octave. "Is that you? Come on, this isn't funny anymore!"

And there it came, a large shadow burst forth from the woods, rushing him with its lanky arms outstretched. A screech akin to that of five year old ripped itself from Harold's mouth, and for a moment he was sure he was going to be mowed down by the creature –that is, until the figure found itself jerked by its ankle so hard that it fell face first into the packed dirt of the road. A groan escaped as a figure emerged from behind the tree and pinned the creature to the ground by sitting on its back.

"Jinkies guys, I think we've solved the mystery!" Helga chirped sarcastically, taking her newly acquired flashlight and aiming the beam onto the lanky boy beneath her. "You are so dead." The words dripped from her mouth with promise, causing the boy to squirm.

"Oh come on Stinky, you're caught, well, hoof handed," Gerald pointed out as he stepped out from behind the tree on the direct opposite side of the road, careful not trip over their hastily constructed tripwire made from some leftover bits of rope in Arnold's truck. Arnold emerged as well, looking pretty proud of himself as he pushed a flustered looking Sid in front of him.

"Aww, shucks!" Stinky grumbled as he caught sight of Sid.

"Oh come on guys, we didn't really do anything. We were just having some fun!" Sid protested, shrugging his shoulders.

"What do you mean you didn't do anything? You almost gave everyone a heart attack!" Helga snapped, glaring at Sid while still holding her position on Stinky's back.

"Key word is almost?"

"Key word is shut up, Sid."

Sid clamped his mouth shut, noting the acidity that dripped from Helga's voice as she glared icy daggers at him.

"And as for you, you skinny goat turd," she continued, pushing her knee a bit farther into Stinky's shoulder blades, "You are so lucky I think seeing you naked is about 500 times scarier than any goat man, so you're saved from being skinned alive today. Boys!" Helga gave a nonchalant snap of her fingers and point at the rope entangling Stinky, and Arnold and Gerald both rushed forward to free the poor sap.

"Aw shucks, Harold, how could you help 'em trip us up like that?" Stinky whined, getting nothing more than a shrug from his larger classmate.

"They bribed me with the one thing I couldn't resist….food."

The night was creeping deeper into a calm stillness with the culprits caught and the gang gathered back around the bonfire for the night. What was left of the food after Harold's previous nervous chowdown had been passed out, and hotdogs and smores alike where being gorged on by those who had found their appetite kicking in with a force after a night of monster hunting – among other things. Helga was perched on a long, picking apart a smore as she watched her classmates settling into their couples and cliques. Phoebe settled down beside her, her own smore a perfect mathematical ratio on the small paper plate she held.

"I think I can make the correct assumption when I say tonight was rather… fun," she mused, having taken a moment to settle on the right word. She delicately bit into her treat, eyes wide as the marshmallow formed a rather gooey string that didn't seem to want to break. The girl pawed at it with wary, sticky fingers.

"I think fun is a good word," Helga laughed from beside her, taking a bite of the disheveled remains of her own snack, trying to replicate the string. A moment later she found she was almost choking on the same treat as Arnold settled down on the log beside her, his proximity so close that she could feel his arm brush against her own – still clad in his shirt.

"Excuse me, I need to go grab some wipes from car. Marshmallow!" Phoebe chirped, and Helga sent grateful praises along with simultaneous curses as her short friend gave her a teasing look before hastily shuffling off in a direction that was nowhere near aligned with the car.

"How can I help you, Arnoldo? Here for your shirt?" Helga garbled around the graham cracker in her mouth, hastily brushing against her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Nah, you can keep it. I've got tons. They're kind of my thing," he joked, picking up his smore and eyeing it as though trying to figure out the least messy way to bite it.

"Just go all in."

The boy shot her a teasing glance, commenting, "If you're telling me from personal experience, maybe not."

Helga dealt him a swift blow to the arm, turning her head down so as to hide the blush creeping in her cheeks. "What'd you come over for, don't you want to spend the rest of the night with your friends?"

"Oh come on, are you trying to convince me we aren't friends now?" he moaned, letting his melty dessert dribbled melted chocolate onto the plate he was holding. Helga dared a glance, noting his eyes were looking genuinely shocked.

"If you're gonna give me puppy dogs eyes over it, then fine, yeah, we're friends." She rolled her eyes, setting her plate on the ground before stretching her legs in front of her and leaning back to rest her weight on her hands. "But don't expect much out of it."

"I'm just taking this one small step at a time," Arnold replied, giving her a smile that made her heart stutter. "After all, we did almost die together, so I think we've knocked the big step out of the way."

"Speaking of this whole fiasco, how're you getting you're truck home?"

"Grandpa's picking me up. He'll drive me back tomorrow and we'll put some gas in it. He thought the whole fiasco, as you worded it, was rather comical."

Helga chucked. "He would, the old coot."

"Eh, he's family."

"I guess…"

They sat in silence for a bit, watching the fire begin to burn low. Helga was surprised he'd managed to sit this long beside her without wanting to combust – she knew she was.

"So, Helga," he began, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at this lap. "I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out again sometime? Despite the almost dying stuff, tonight was fun. With you as my partner."

Helga swore an angel chorus swooped from the heaven's to serenade them in that moment of glory. "I…I mean, I guess if nothing's on the TV I could," she blurted trying to sound offhanded, but she couldn't fully keep her smile underwraps. "We made a decent Sherlock and Watson – obviously I was Sherlock, but you get my drift."

Arnold laughed beside her, "I do. I'm better suited for Watson anyway."

"I won't argue."

"That's surprising."

"Oh, shut up. I only tolerate you."

"Whatever you say Helga, whatever you say."