The Secret

By Cybra

A/N: Hey! I still have someone with me! Good for you! And again, I would like to answer your review…

JESS – whistle Another fine set of guesses. However, once again, you're a bit off. Arnold isn't the son of a witch or hiding a darker half. (At least, not in this fic. However, you did give me an idea for possibly another!) The "mind devil" thing is sort of like an anti-conscience. You know, the evil Jimminy Cricket. I have a feeling that just about everyone has that little voice in their head that urges them to do something they shouldn't do. (I know I do!) It's basically your shoulder devil (like Kronk has in The Emperor's New Groove) only it's in your head. Does that clear things up? Also, as to why Helga wouldn't know, remember in Chapter 1 what Arnold said to Lola? Nothing was visible. She could watch him the entire time and never see a thing.

Disclaimer: Me Cybra, not Craig Barlett. Him own Hey Arnold!, not me. Unga bunga.

Chapter 3: A Tough Decision

Stinky gave another cry of pain as the agony shot up his leg. He was leaning heavily now on Sid and Arnold. His ankle was still swollen, looking extremely painful to his three friends.

"Don't worry, Stinky. We'll get you to Mr. Simmons, and he'll do something about it," Arnold reassured him.

"I can't walk another step, Arnold! It hurts!" the country boy complained, giving a yelp of pain as he put too much weight on his throbbing ankle.

"We better give that ankle a rest, you guys," Arnold reasoned. "We'll go a little farther in a minute or two."

Carefully, the blonde and the boy with the green hat lowered their friend into a sitting position. Stinky was more than grateful to be sitting on the ground once more.

"What'll we do?!" Sid asked, starting to become panicky.

"What we need is a pain killer!" reasoned Gerald.

"But Mr. Simmons wasn't allowed to give us any pain killers!"

"Well…maybe we can ask Phoebe if she knows anything. We'll use the walkie-talkie!"

"What if she doesn't know anything that can help?!"

"Sid, you're not helping!"

During this argument, the team's captain studied the ankle, chewing his lower lip. It was a bad habit of his that only came out when he was really worried. Needless to say, he was really worried now. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. His dilemma made it hard to come to a decision.

There was something that he could do, and he knew it. He could ease the pain in Stinky's ankle just enough for the taller boy to walk on it (with the aid of Sid, Gerald, or himself) in order to reach Mr. Simmons. Arnold had done something similar a few times before in the past for the boarders.

However, that was the problem. He hadn't done it very much and didn't know if he could pull it off for long enough. He'd done this sort of thing for a brief minute or two before help would arrive. It would take at least five minutes to reach Mr. Simmons. He didn't know if he could do it that long.

And if he performed the procedure he was thinking of, would they discover his secret? It could very much give him away. He didn't want them to know, didn't want the nightmares he'd had in the past to become real…

~@~

"You lied to us the whole time, didn't you?!" Gerald demanded.

"You were just using us! Playing with us!" Sid accused.

"Did you really think you could get away with this, Football Head?!" Helga spat.

All around him, friends pointed and accused him of playing with their minds, taking advantage of what he had that they didn't.

A solitary tear ran down Arnold's cheek. "I didn't…I wouldn't…"

"Arnold!"

~@~

Arnold snapped to attention at the call of his name, looking at his best friend. "Huh?"

"I said, what the heck do we do?!"

Decision time. Whatever he did now would make the difference.

Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind of other thoughts, he kneeled down next to Stinky. His deep green eyes locked their gaze on Stinky's brown ones. "Stinky, I can do…something…to make the pain ease up a bit, but I need your permission. Do you trust me?"

"Sure, Arnold. I trust you," Stinky affirmed, wincing as he accidentally moved his ankle a little too much.

"Okay. Just hold still."

Arnold reached down and gently grasped the wounded ankle, his fingers spreading to different points. He flexed his fingers a little, giving the illusion of applying pressure. It wasn't really necessary, but it made a good show. If there was only one thing Arnold was, he was a good actor.

He didn't look at anything except the ankle. He slowly inhaled and started to work.

The country boy blinked in surprise as a trickle of numbness seemed to slip into his sore ankle. It traveled along the nerves to the point where it hurt the most. After a small tingly feeling that felt like his foot was falling asleep, the pain began to wash away as if it were going down a drain. At the same time, more of that numb feeling flowed into his ankle. It was almost like turning on a faucet that let the bad stuff drain out while the water cleaned it out.

Helga and her group crashed through the bush into view.

Rhonda took one look at Stinky's ankle and gagged. "Ugh! That's revolting!"

"Shut up, Princess!" snapped Helga.

Another stab of pain struck Stinky's ankle, but it was washed down the "drain" before his mind could fully register it.

"Okay, Stinky. Let's try to get you back to Mr. Simmons," Arnold ordered.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes.

Was there a slight strain in Arnold's voice?

"Okay, Stinky, I'll walk you there," Helga offered, pulling him up and onto her shoulder.

"Wow, Helga! That's right nice of ya!" the country boy said, smiling.

The strange numbness that had taken over his ankle held the pain at bay as he walked, leaning on Helga's shoulder.

"Yeah, well, these shrimps wouldn't be able to support you the right way anyway! Besides, I'm feeling generous today since you're hurt. Don't get used to it."

"Okie dokie, Helga."

Arnold walked at the back of the small caravan of children. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now. If he lost focus, Stinky would begin to feel the pain in his ankle again.

He shuddered slightly as another stab of pain reached him that made his head suddenly throb, causing him to rub his right temple with his hand. Fortunately, nobody seemed to notice.

~@~

Arnold was starting to sweat slightly as they reached the bus and the waiting Mr. Simmons. Fortunately for him, it was fairly warm out and people were sweating anyway. However, he wasn't sweating because of the heat but because of the strain he felt.

Just when he thought that another second might kill him, Mr. Simmons gave Stinky something to swallow to ease the pain. Stinky sat down one of the few picnic tables, leg stretched out so the teacher could go to work on his student's injury.

"You'll be all right, Stinky," Mr. Simmons assured his student.

"Thanks, Mr. Simmons."

"You're welcome."

Arnold sat down at a picnic table a little ways from the group. He held his throbbing head in his hands, tempted to put his head between his knees at the same time. He released his concentration from the task he had had to perform. It was a good thing too. Another few seconds, and the blessed numbness on Stinky's ankle would vanish suddenly without anything else to ease the pain.

"Are you okay, man?" Gerald asked, walking over to his best friend.

"I'm okay. I guess Grandpa's bacon's messing with me again." Arnold used the trick Phoebe taught him again to ease his nauseated stomach. He wished it cured a headache.

For a brief moment, everyone in the general area felt a sudden alien ache in their heads as if they had all contracted a headache at once. Just as suddenly as that small pain had arrived, it vanished without a trace.

"Weird…" Sid muttered.

~@~

"How're you doing, Stinky?" Mr. Simmons asked two hours later on the bus.

"I'm doin' okay. Thanks!" the boy answered, smiling.

"Good, good."

Sid leaned forward to talk to his friend. "So, what'd Arnold do?"

"I dunno. It was pretty weird. It was like my ankle went numb. Maybe he used some kinda pressure points or somethin'." The country boy's eyes went wide as he realized something. "Shoot! I plumb forgot to thank him! Hey, Arnold! Thanks for the…"

Stinky's voice trailed off as he saw Arnold leaning against the window of the bus a few rows back, eyes closed and asleep. The blonde winced in his sleep, his hand occasionally reaching up to rub one or the other of his temples. It was as if Arnold had a bad headache and was trying to cure it by going to sleep.

"I guess I'll just thank ya later."

Helga silently fretted over her beloved, wanting to help him but not wanting to because then she'd reveal her darkest secret. No way was she going to let the morons in her class gain knowledge of her love for Arnold.

She glanced from side to side, noting that everyone around her was too busy talking to pay attention to her.

"Oh, Arnold, my love," she whispered. "You who cares for those sick and hurt. You who watches over everyone else. If only I could let go of my own foolish pride and sit by your side, nursing whatever ails you at this moment." She sighed. "But alas, I cannot. For if our fellow classmates gained the knowledge of my feelings for you…" Here she growled. "…I'd have to rip them limb from limb, and, unfortunately, murder is illegal." Once more she sighed, pulling out her locket. "Oh, my darling, may you be well once more…"

Wheeze. Wheeze.

Helga frowned, knowing that familiar wheeze. She balled up her fist. 'Here we go again…'

Whack!

Brainy fell back into his seat. Nobody seemed to notice.

~@~

Arnold's grandpa knew something was wrong the moment he saw his grandson's face. He frowned and walked towards the young blonde.

"You okay, Short Man?"

"I don't feel so good, Grandpa."

"Gosh. What's wrong, Arnold?" Eugene asked.

Arnold turned apologetically to his friends. "Major headache. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"See ya."

"Bye, Arnold."

The old man and his grandson climbed into the green Packard, Arnold leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes.

Phil glanced worriedly at him. "What happened, Short Man?"

"Stinky twisted his ankle at one point. It was hurting him so badly, and we needed to get him to Mr. Simmons, but it was a really long walk. It hurt him to walk on it, so I decided to help out a little." Arnold winced as his head continued to throb.

Phil didn't need to know exactly how Arnold helped out. Instinctively, he knew. He cleared his throat. "Do they know what you did?"

"I don't think so. I was pretty vague when I said I would do something to help him."

At the same time, Phoebe asked Gerald, "What exactly was Arnold doing to Stinky's ankle?"

"I dunno. It looked like he was using pressure points or something."

Helga listened, interested in anything her secret love did. After all, there was some strange secret about her beloved that she knew the inhabitants of the Sunset Arms boarding house were keeping under wraps. Whatever it was, she had yet to discover it.

"You're sure it was pressure points?" the Japanese girl asked.

"Well…that's what it looked like."

Sid quickly walked up to them, revealing that he had been eavesdropping. "Why, Phoebe? What's going on?"

"I just find it difficult to believe that Arnold was using pressure points to make Stinky's ankle go numb."

"Why's that?" Helga asked, truly interested.

Phoebe's dark eyes briefly locked eyes with her three companions. "I know where the different pressure points are and can use them. And I know for a fact that Arnold's fingers were nowhere near the correct places to use those same pressure points."