"It's uh, hard." Tavros found himself explaining, a hint of a weary sigh passing through his lips. "Karkat is a uh, tough leader."

Gamzee nodded wisely in silent agreement, making popping noises with his mouth before he encouraged Tavros to continue.

"And, he doesn't make it, uh, easy for someone, like me. He always, um, makes fun of, me, and Rufio doesn't, uh, help much."

"Best friend can be a tough motherfucker." Gamzee affirmed as he eased Tavros' chair forward and back, rolling around aimlessly as the other troll watched on wistfully.

Tavros sighed again and shifted his position atop Gamzee's sizeable pile of horns, nestling himself in deeper amongst the clown's appliances. The horns honked loudly underneath him in protest to his movements, and although he could feel the metal parts digging into the gimpy parts of his body, he couldn't actually feel them. It was a weird sensation, but one he'd become accustomed to, so he couldn't really complain when Gamzee had asked if 'a brother needed to get a motherfucking load off his motherfucking chest.'

Gamzee continued to roll around in the commandeered wheelchair, doing all sorts of sick stunts with the device that Tavros had never thought possible. The clown proved to be far better at popping wheelies with the strange device than trying to balance atop that stupid unicycle of his, and the long-horned troll would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous.

Tavros watched him enviously; wishing he had the talent or skill or whatever it was Gamzee was utilizing to do things like that. Well, no, what he really wished he had was legs that worked. Or to fly; he'd like to be able to fly. Then he wouldn't have to worry about his legs being crippled and gimpy and utterly useless. He was so limited without the use of his legs, and now here was Gamzee, taking and abusing the only thing he had that allowed him to be mobile. He was stranded atop this mound of horns, watching as his friend put on some kind of performance with his chair that made all sorts of envious feelings come to light.

In short, all this show with his wheelchair wasn't helping his defunct mood.

"So, uh, when can, I get, my chair back?"

Gamzee brought the wheelchair around to the front of the horn pile, rocking it back and forth slowly before spinning it in a quick circle.

"Whenever we fucking finish up this conversation, my brother."

"I uh, thought we did?"

"Uh-uh, bro." Gamzee said, shaking his head with a grin. "Did we resolve the motherfucking issue?"

"Um."

Tavros frowned as Gamzee popped the chair up to balance on the back wheels, rolling it steadily back and forth before resuming scooting around the room, balanced perfectly as he held the wheelie.

Gosh, Tavros really wished he could do that.

"I really wish, I could uh, do, that."

"Why the fuck don't you? It's motherfucking fun, my brother." Gamzee pondered as he leaned the chair back, testing the laws of gravity in an effort to see how low he could go.

"Uh, I'm paralyzed, remember?" Tavros said as he continued to watch the other troll enviously.

"This motherfucker ain't using his legs." The troll announced before the chair tipped too far back. Startled and attempting to over-correct, Gamzee spun the wheels forward and succeeded in getting the chair jammed on a renegade horn and propelling himself forward into the pile and coaxing forth a chorus of loud, angry honks. "Motherfucking ow."

Tavros watched with a worried expression as Gamzee groaned and picked himself up, rubbing his arms with a sore expression on his face.

"Can I, go now?" he asked as Gamzee righted the fallen chair, shooing off a horn that'd found it's way into the seat.

"In a motherfucking minute." Gamzee huffed as he climbed up the pile to assist in Tavros' descent. He helped situate the paraplegic troll before returning to what he was supposed to have been doing by initiating this conversation regarding stressed emotions in the first place: fix the problem. "Is there anything this bro can motherfucking do to help a fucking miracle come and light up your fucking world?"

Tavros frowned. Well yeah, there were lots of things Gamzee could do to make him feel better, but they were all way out of some silly Juggalo wannabe's capability. He wanted working legs again; Gog dammit if these 'motherfucking miracles' Gamzee preached about were real, then he'd fucking wish to be Pupa Pan or something awesome like that.

"Not, uh, unless you can, make me fly." Tavros mumbled to himself before wheeling away.

Gamzee watched him go with an inkling of an idea forming behind his half-lidded eyes.

It was a couple of days before Tavros ran into Gamzee again. Well, maybe 'ran into' is the wrong terminology to use, since Tavros would be scared utterly shitless when he came across the clown's path.

"Fly motherfucking Pupa Pan pie, fly!"

Tavros had precious little time to react before the pie flew from Gamzee's hand, aimed right for the crippled troll's head. He let out a yelp quickly before he wheeled out of the projectile's line of fire with a frozen look of terror on his face, trying desperately not to end up covered in slime. The flying pie ended up splatting against the wall where his head had been mere moments before. The tin made a loud rattling noise as it fell to the ground, leaving a thick, slimy green trial in it's wake. Tavros turned to face Gamzee, face a mixture of mute terror and complete surprise.

"Um, what. Why, did you throw a, uh, pie, at me?"

"I'm a motherfucking miracle worker." Gamzee said around a grin, advancing upon Tavros with another pie in hand. "Bro's got some motherfucking sick reaction time."

The young troll held up his hands for cover as Gamzee raised the pie above his head, ready to dump the contents over Tavros' over-exposed person. When nothing happened for more than a few seconds, Tavros peeked out from under his protectively poised hands to see that the terminally capricious one had placed the second pie on his lap.

"Um…"

Gamzee looked on expectantly, grinning broadly as Tavros examined the pie that he hadn't been assaulted with. He was surprised to find that a crudely drawn portrait of Pupa Pan had been…attempted…to have been drawn in the green slop Gamzee claimed as food.

Or at least, he thought it was Pupa Pan; it was more of a dark green blob mixed into a brighter green sludge, but Gamzee had announced it as a 'Pupa Pan Pie', so… One could only assume.

"Um…" Tavros repeated, glancing up at Gamzee with a confused expression. "What, is this, for, exactly?"

"For the best motherfucking crippled bro a guy could motherfucking have."

Tavros frowned but didn't have much time to think about it before Gamzee had taken control of his chair, wheeling him away at a rapid pace. But looking back on it from the future, he guessed he appreciated it. It was a kind thought, after all; one that meant a whole great deal more to him than he ever had time to let on.

"Oh, uh, where are we, going, 'Zee?" Tavros managed to stutter out, eyes wide as Gamzee began running- bolting down the hallway of the laboratory in the direction of the stairs with a frenzied expression on his half-crazed face. Oh god. "Oh, God."

"We're gonna motherfucking fly, bro! I'm about to make your motherfucking dreams come true!" Gamzee announced before he hopped up on to the back of the wheelchair, letting it run wildly free as they careened down the hallway with reckless abandon.

Tavros started to yell and reach for the emergency break in a desperate effort to stop this foolhardy plan, only to be foiled by Gamzee swatting his hand away. The troll on the back of the chair laughed and honked as the chair rapidly approached the stairwell, filling Tavros with dread and Gamzee with glee.

"Gamzee, I-"

"We have motherfucking liftoff!"

Gamzee began hooting and hollering as he finally jammed on the emergency break. They screeched to a halt, but the momentum gained from cantering down the hall in the wheelchair was enough to propel Tavros out of the seat and into the air.

"Fly motherfucker, fly!"

Tavros screeched as he flew, the Pupa Pan pie flying up with him as they tumbled forward. He only had one coherent thought running through his head as he careened toward the ground:

This was the last fucking time he ever tried forging a meaningful relationship with the half-crazed troll, platonic or otherwise.