A/N: Well, this is the last chapter. The end. It's over. Well… at the end of the page it is. It's been a long, looooooong journey, filled with computer glitches, unsaved work, and plain old procrastination. Looking back on the lifetime of this story, I never expected it to be as well-received as it has been. I'm so, so, so glad that you guys liked this story, and that you think it reflects the original series in an accurate and positive way. This was a really great show, and I just wanted to express my love for what were already very lovable characters.

I know I'm yakking on and on—yes, yes, I'll get to the story soon—but I just want to give a special thanks to the readers, all of you, for giving even a glance at the words of this story. I really, really appreciate any time anyone has to read my stuff, let alone you guys who are also avid fans of Recess itself. Like always, thanks heaps to the reviewers of the previous chapter: infiniteirony, WeAsLeYkid8, lilerin91, Monte-chan, 0-Royal-T-0, and animationiscool. Thank you all so much for taking the time to let me know how you think the story is going, and that goes for anyone who's ever reviewed anyone anywhere in a constructive, non-malicious way. Thirdly, thank you again to anyone who's favourited or alerted this story, or my account in general. It's so comforting to know you care.

Some people have asked about a sequel. Well, I'm not sure. It's been really great writing this, but I must see what life allows. I may write one of the ideas I've had in the works for a while now. I may just lurk around and read. I may move to the isolated regions of Antarctica where there is no internet connection, to study the effects that an ice desert has on a goofy monkey child. Sure, some of these are more likely than others. But hey, who knows what the future holds?

So, for possibly the last time, I say: this is goofy monkey, out.

A slice of heaven & one hell of a girl

By goofy monkey child

Chapter thirty-eight: Brotherly Love

On an average school day, Randall usually had to go to out of his way to avoid Detweiler and his gang's pathetic little pranks. Randall's modest attempts to gain respect (and possibly rule the playground) would be ignored and underappreciated next to the so-called 'coolness' of La Salle. And Randall's incredibly helpful and sophisticated spying techniques would ultimately be wrecked—nay, thwarted—by his long-time arch nemesis, Ashley Spinelli. But this Monday, it seemed, was a most unusual day. He hadn't seen Detweiler, La Salle, or Spinelli the entire day.

And it was getting on Randall's nerves.

When the bell for home time rang, he rushed out of Ms Furley's class (I can learn about the Civil War anytime), unintentionally pushing-over-slash-stepping-on Cornchip Girl in the mad rush down the corridor (probably up to something notorious anyways), and ran down to the bike racks to wait for a glimpse of Spinelli and the two boys.

Fifteen minutes passed and all but three bikes were picked up from the racks. The only people still hanging around were a couple of older boys loitering across the street, no sign of Spinelli's crew at all. If six years of grade school spy work had taught Randall anything, it was that absence equalled trouble.

"Those three have gotta' be up to something…" Randall rubbed his chin.

Over by the kickball field, Bradley and Eric leant against the back-safety net, kicking the dirt, looking down with surly frowns. Those two thugs had also been acting a little strangely today, being a lot quieter and more submissive than usual. Bradley also kept rubbing the back of his head and Eric had a hunch in his back, like an old man without a walker. Randall simply put it down to one too many games of British Bulldog on the weekend.

He heard the creak of the large school doors opening and ran from the bike racks, around the corner of the school on the playground side, and watched the door.

Sure enough, it was Detweiler, La Salle, and Spinelli, waltzing on out of the school building, laughing and talking about atmospheric weather changes and dodgeball players, as far as he could tell. Spinelli led as they walked down the stairs, the two boys following beside her like undersized bodyguards.

Randall sneered and pointed up at her. "Spinelli!"

Spinelli looked over at him and smirked. She and the two boys walked over. "What d'ya want, Randall?"

"I know you're up to something," he said, glancing from Spinelli, to T.J., to Vince, and back at Spinelli, hoping to catch some sort of evidence in their eyes. "Where've you three been all day? Playing hookey? Or maybe you're avoiding me because you're plotting against me! Or-"

"We've been here all day Randall," said T.J.

"Maybe your rat-finking skills just aren't as good at tracking people as you think," said Vince, folding his arms.

Randall narrowed his eyes at Vince, then looked back at Spinelli, who just stood there staring at him with that same sense of loathing she'd had in her since pre-school. Her right fist was bandaged, her nose was yellowing on the edges of a deep purple bruise, and down her right cheek was a gash that would heal quickly but probably scar well into high school. These weren't unusual things for the 'toughest kid at Third Street' to have, but it did make Randall wonder why both Spinelli and his own hired goons had scored injuries over the weekend. Unless…

Randall looked back at the kickball field. Bradley and Eric weren't particularly smart, but they knew how to do what they were told. Maybe over the weekend they'd ran into Spinelli somehow. Maybe, without support from Detweiler and the rest of their gang, Bradley and Eric had taken some initiative and knocked some sweet payback into her. Sure, she'd put up a bit of a fight—given them a donk to the head and a blow to the back—but compared with her injuries they'd gotten off easy. And maybe, with the knowledge of what Randall's goons could do to her, Spinelli had gathered Detweiler and La Salle and hidden from him all day. Maybe—Randall almost drooled at the thought—Spinelli had finally come to realise the power that he held, had come to respect him, had come to fear him.

"Moist…" Randall said out loud, before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat and called out to the kickball field, "Hey, lunkheads!" Bradley and Eric looked up. "Get over here!"

Randall grinned as he turned back to Spinelli and the boys. "Now since I'm such a generous soul, and not, as Spinelli so incorrectly called me the other week, a 'two-bit gob of spit'-"

T.J. bit his lip and snorted with laughter. Spinelli side-glanced him and smiled.

Randall narrowed his eyes but continued: "…I'm going to give you another chance to explain yourselves." Bradley and Eric walked up behind Randall, folding their thick arms over their chests and glaring down at the three. "Why were you guys avoiding me today?"

T.J. folded his arms with a smirk. "The same reason we always avoid you?"

Spinelli and Vince giggled. Randall growled.

"Perhaps you were… scared? Scared because you know I hold a lot of swing on this playground…?"

Spinelli and Vince laughed even harder, and T.J. joined them. Randall gritted his teeth.

"Stop it!" He pointed an accusing finger at Spinelli. "Say it! Say you're scared of me! Say you respect me or, or…" Randall threw his arm back to point at Bradley and Eric, "or I'll have them beat you up again!"

Spinelli stopped laughing very quickly, and Randall sneered, assured of his power over her. Spinelli lowered her eyelids and looked Randall up and down, very slowly. Randall swallowed, becoming somewhat uneasy from the girl's probing eyes, as if she could see his heart pounding and palms sweating.

Finally Spinelli reached Randall's eyes again, and she folded her arms over her chest. Now all three of them had their arms folded. If Randall didn't know them, he would have said they looked quite tough. But he did know them.

"Guess you haven't heard," said Spinelli, not smiling, not smirking, not even scowling, but with a look of seriousness Randall only ever remembered seeing on adults, "but I'm not scared of monsters."

Randall blinked for a moment, trying to understand what sort of relevance that was supposed to have. Then he balled his skinny fists and forgot it.

"Boys," he said, motioning his head to the trio in front of him, "teach these three the price for crossing Randall Weems."

Bradley and Eric began rolling up their sleeves.

"You might be able to handle one of us," said Bradley, staring at Spinelli, "but you can't take on the two of us."

Bradley and Eric moved past Randall toward the younger kids. Spinelli, T.J. and Vince didn't move. Bradley sneered at the two boys, and Eric glared down at Spinelli. "Not so tough on your own, are you La Nina Diablo?"

"On her own?" Vince cocked an eyebrow at T.J. "What are we, mannequins?"

T.J. smiled, glancing toward Spinelli. "More like crash test dummies."

Spinelli looked up at Eric and Bradley's towering bodies. She then looked down between them, where Randall stood behind, flexing his fingers with a wicked grin.

"You're right," she said. "I'm not so tough on my own. Not tough at all."

Spinelli turned her head until she was facing away from Randall and toward the side of the school. "Guys? Could you come out here now?"

Randall couldn't see past Bradley and Eric's bulky forms. He was about to push them out of the way, but then found that the two backed up, until they were standing behind him.

When Randall looked over, he saw two very large, very muscular teenage boys walking up past the bike racks toward them. One had flaming orange hair and freckles. The other had shaggy dark brown hair, and very familiar eyes.

Randall, despite the sweat now coming in bucket loads off his palms, ran a hand through his curly auburn hair.

"You think some big kids scare us? Pfft, I don't think so. Bradley? Eric? Take care of this."

Randall clicked his fingers and waited for the two brainless lugs to step forward. Nothing happened. Randall coughed.

"Bradley…? Eric…?"

Randall snapped his fingers again, and waited for something to happen. For something, anything, to intervene—the hand of God, a magical wizard, Señor Fusion…

Nothing.

Randall wiped his shaking hands on his green pants.

He turned slowly, ready to use any piece of blackmail he could to get Bradley and Eric to leap in front of him so he might have time to run for his weaselly little life.

However, the immediate problem with this plan was the lack of (a) Bradley, and (b) Eric, because both (a) and (b) were halfway across the kickball field and moving fast toward the gap in the back fence of the school.

Randall turned back to face the three kids, who were now five. The two older boys stood either side of the group. All five had their arms folded over their chests.

"You must be Randall," said the dark-haired boy. "I've heard so very much about you."

"So have I," said the redhead. "And I've heard that you might have been doing a bit of bullying lately."

The dark-haired boy gasped sarcastically. "Say it isn't so, Jason."

"I'm afraid it is, Vitto." Jason grinned. "See, I hear Randall's been blackmailing bigger kids and getting them to beat up people he doesn't like."

The one called Vitto stepped toward Randall, clucking his tongue. "Gee kid, haven't you heard?"

Randall shook his head, having lost the ability to move anything else, or even to form words.

Vitto and Jason unfolded their arms, and instead began cracking their knuckles.

"Bullies get served…"

All at once Randall felt his body come back into control. His legs kicked into motion, as did his mouth, and as he tore down the playground he heard himself screaming for help. Most of his body knew there was no chance he could outrun two teenage boys, that the most noble thing to do would be to stand his ground and take whatever punishment Spinelli's older friends had in store for him—but a small, primitive part of his mind simply said, 'To hell with that!', and ran as fast as a two-bit gob of spit could run.

Spinelli laughed and laughed as she watched Vitto and Jason chase Randall down the playground. If there was one thing Spinelli loved—and in fact there weren't many things Spinelli really loved, but if she had to choose one—it would be justice. Especially the kind of justice that's funny to watch.

If Spinelli had to add a new item to the list of things she really loved, she might just choose her brothers. Vitto and Joey, for sure, but also T.J. and Vince, and Jason, and Mikey, Gus, and even Gretchen—they were all her 'brothers', in one way or another—everyone who stood by her through the ups and downs, everyone who looked out for her, everyone who made her who she was.

And now she thought about it, if there was one more thing Spinelli loved, it was heading down to Kelso's on a sunny afternoon to spend some time hanging out with those very people. Yes, Spinelli thought. That would be very tender indeed.

End