Dog Days

a Hey Arnold! fanfiction

by KG (a.k.a. Nerdturd)

Chapter Two

Proud and strange and hopelessly hopeful…

Helga woke up the next morning to the sound of a blender on high speed whirring somewhere below. A cacophony of birds and city noises, that orchestra of motors and people, the beeps and hammerings, the perpetual sound of the TV and the radio filling in, the noises she didn't know she missed.

Right, I'm in Sunset Arms, Helga thought. I am in an empty dusty room in Arnold's house with four hundred dollars and seven pairs of underwear in my bag. What to do.

Breakfast, her growling stomach gurgled. Right, I all I had was those peanuts. And gin. What a combo.

Helga groaned and swung herself out of bed. She was so exhausted that she just dropped all her clothes on the dusty hardwood floor. She picked up her pants and brushed the dust off her flannel shirt. I don't even have a fucking toothbrush on me, she sighed. Once convinced that she was relatively presentable and dust-free, she grabbed her backpack and peered into the hallway. It was empty.

I guess I have to go find Arnold and be on my way. Probably thank his grandma too, she thought. But Jesus, the awkward shit last night.

Tiptoeing downstairs, she managed to encounter nobody until she reached the kitchen. Peering in the dining room, she felt a pang when saw Arnold sitting on the counter, his back to her. Grandma Gertie hobbled energetically and grabbed a giant stack of pancakes to set down on the table.

"Eleanor, is that you?" She hollered, forcing Helga to come out into the kitchen, grinning sheepishly.

"Sorry, ma'm. I just want to thank you and Arnold for letting me stay in your spare room last night."

"What did you say? Sit down and have breakfast, dear," she said briskly, setting a place and a glass of orange juice and a coffee mug next to the empty spot next to Arnold.

"Oh, Eleanor, It's so nice of you to finally come by to visit," Grandma Gertie sighed. "Between Skippy and ol' Benny, there just isn't enough good company around."

"Benny?" Helga looked at Arnold. Arnold shrugged.

"Uh, actually, I'm—"

"You must be hungry. Arnold here told me all you had last night were a bowl of peanuts. Peanuts! Were they the salted kind?"

"Um, they were." Helga glanced at Arnold, who smirked at her, forking more pancakes into his mouth. He was unreadable. She perched herself on the counter stool.

"Eleanor dear, did I tell you I love what you did to your hair?"

"Oh, this." Helga fingered her hair. She had cut it in front of the stained barnyard mirror before she left her grandfather's ranch with a pair of kitchen shears. It was cut short and uneven underneath her ears. With her thick eyebrows it made her look like a scrawny farm hand. But there was no time to fix it up.

"Yeah, it suits you," Arnold spoke at last, downing a glassful of juice and pouring another, winking at her. Helga rolled her eyes.

"Gee, thanks, Football Head. I think I'm going to grow it out now."

Grandma Gertie piled a dozen pancakes on Helga's plate. "Eat up, dear! Then I'd like you to help me clean your room. Lard knows what shenanigans the dust bunnies have been up to in there."

"Actually, I don't think I would be staying here. I don't want to trespass on your hospitality," Helga blurted out, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

"Trespass? Hospitality? What are you talking about, dearie?" Grandma Gertie's clear green eyes, very much like Arnold's, looked kindly at her, transparent and cheerful.

"I… I don't think it would be a good idea for me to stay," Helga stammered, looking down at her pancakes swimming in syrup.

"Why?"

Because, Helga thought, Because being in your house is such a trigger fest. All the old memories lurked around the corner like ghosts. I still know every nook and cranny in this building, I know how to get to the attic through your broom closet. I know all the escape routes. And Arnold. Don't get me started about your grandson. He—

Grandma Gertie smiled at Helga's furrowed expression. "Well, Eleanor, while you're still thinking about your reasons, why not help Skippy here wake up ol' Benny? He can have the rest of your drowning pancakes."

Helga found herself standing up and brushing crumbs off her shirt. "R-right. Come on, Arnold." Arnold stood up and followed Helga into the hallway.

"So who the hell is Benny?" Helga asked as they ascended the stairs.

Arnold smiled. "You'll see."

Helga rolled her eyes. "Tsch."

They climbed the stairs to Arnold's room. "I get it. Benny is a dog."

"I don't think he'll take that well," Arnold knocked thrice on the door. A groan came from within.

"Yo. Wake up."

The door opened. A tall, pale man wearing only a pair of blue and yellow banana-print boxers appeared, rubbing his eyes. His dyed blue hair stuck out in a way that struck Helga as uncannily familiar.

"Good morning," the man yawned. His sleepy gaze turned on Helga. He blinked.

"Jesus on a jetpack," he gasped, rubbing his eyes theatrically. "It couldn't be!"

Helga's eyes widened as realization hit. That deep voice.

"Brainy?"

"Holy shit!"

"Holy fuck!"

"Holy ham and egg omelette!"

Brainy's eyes were glued to Helga. He was decidedly awake now. Helga smiled inwardly at how eager he was. If he had a tail, he'd totally be wagging it. And she was surprised that she was happy to see him.

"Jesus, girl, you look fantastic," Brainy said hoarsely. Helga blushed. "Nice hair."

"Shut up. You er, don't look so bad yourself," Helga couldn't stop smiling. "Nice boxers."

"Thanks, I found them on the street," he said, gesturing into Arnold's room. "Come in, guys. What a morning."

"Helga thought you were a dog," Arnold laughed, as he closed the door behind him.

"Wait, isn't this Arnold's room?" Helga frowned. "Does that mean you two are gay for each other now?"

Arnold and Brainy looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"You wish," Brainy grinned. Arnold had his hands on his stomach, doubled over and shaking.

"Arnold isn't really my type," Brainy said, wiggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively that Helga had to laugh. "I mean, despite me being a total gay manwhore. I don't go for sticks in the mud like ol' Arnoldo here."

"Wait, what?"

"I, Brian Benjamin Bartlett, am a total gay manwhore?"

Helga burst out laughing. "Oh, God."

Arnold wiped his eyes. "Three years ago, Brainy here had a realization—"

"There was this magical rainbow beam of light that shone upon me one winter day when I was walking home. Choirs of gay angels in matching gold, silver, and bronze mermaid gowns sang Cher songs gloriously in heavenly magnificence. And thus was revealed to me by the Holy Queen that I was a fiery, flaming faggot, forever and ever, a gay man."

"Wow," Helga couldn't resist laughing again. "That's amazing, Brainy."

"It is, if I do say so myself," Brainy winked at Helga. "But of course, after that wondrous epiphany, a lot of shit went down. My parents kicked me out when I came out of the closet. I turned to our favourite sucker here—" winking at Arnold—"and asked if I could stay at Sunset Arms. Or should I say, Sunshine Arms," he said, batting his eyelashes.

"So he gave you his room? Woah, Arnold."

"He did, actually."

Arnold smiled. "Because he saved the building from deterioration and building inspectors. He actually does all the repairs. Grandma and I would've been lost without him, what with Grandpa dying and all, we are lucky to have him around."

"Shucks," Brainy blushed and smiled. "Long story short, we are all eternally grateful to each other in this house. It was especially hard for Arnold to give up his remote control couch, but—"

"Not really," Arnold piped in. "You needed a bigger room for your art. I needed a kitchenette."

Helga looked around the room for the first time. The banana wallpaper was still there, but most of it was covered in art posters. Roy Lichtenstein. Andy Warhol. Otto Dix. Shelves have been added and filled with art books and silkscreen frames. On the floor was a giant mechanism shaped much like a miniature turbine, with clusters of LED lights.

"I've been working on this for four months now," Brainy explained when he saw Helga looking at it. "I haven't a title yet, but let me tell you that despite the hundreds of multi-coloured LEDs I used, I don't want the word 'rainbow' in it. I mean I like the word and all, but."

"I know what you mean," Helga felt something in her rise, a feeling of identification, as if she was getting to know Brainy for the first time. She had always been casual friends with Brainy through out high school, but even then she never really got to know him apart from the shy, silent boy who frequently volunteered to paint sets and play extra in their Drama classes. It was amazing to discover him now, being his full eccentric self, but still retaining some of the things that she knew about him, his easy-going attitude, his welcoming companionship. She cast her mind over the way she treated him in grade school, and felt her stomach curdle in regret and shame. And I was so mean to him. I really am a lousy ass.

"The pancakes are getting cold," Arnold said, rising up from his old couch. Helga looked up and met his eyes, which still told her nothing when they looked back at her. Brainy was fishing in his hamper for his pants.

"I'll meet you guys downstairs," Arnold said, and disappeared out the door.

Brainy listened until Arnold was out of earshot. His expression changed, a fine crease formed in his forehead.

"So, Helga. How long will you be staying with us?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Maybe a few more days."

Brainy pondered for a moment, then looked at Helga squarely in the eye.

"Does Arnold seems strange to you?"

Helga felt a jolt at the seriousness of his voice. "N-not exactly. He seems fine to me. A bit unreadable. But he asked me for a hug last night. Said we should catch up."

Brainy exhaled a sigh. He smiled at Helga, a cheerful, open smile that made Helga feel welcome and worried at the same time.

"I'm relieved that you're back, Helga. There's so much that happened when you were gone. We definitely need to catch up," he said, pulling on a shirt. It was yellow and had his face silkscreened on it.

"The pancakes are getting cold," he said, clattering down the stairs.

Author's Notes and Disclaimer:

It seems that I gave Brainy a "real name". I had so much fun writing this chapter, you don't know. Hello readers.

I don't own Hey! Arnold. It belongs to Craig Bartlett and Nickolodeon.