AN: Well shit, I somehow forgot about this.

Sorry ^^;

Hope you like this chapter.

When you somehow fully comprehend the extent of Tavros's injury and desperatation, you know that you must act quickly. You pull yourself to your feet, gently lifting him with you. One arm acts as firm support for his hunched back, and the other is supporting his legs, your hand clasped under his knees. He makes not a sound as you rise, not even an unconcious whimper, and this confirms the thought that you have to motherfucking hurry. Running is a little awkward with the added weight (however slight) but you manage. Your footsteps are the only noise heard as you lope hurriedly through the dim halls and occasional rooms of the Veil. This place is so maze-like, passages doubling back on each other, twisting turns and dipping stairs. This makes you sick. You cannot stand the steady need to check if you have passed this spot before or if you notice the certain dent or stain scattered in this place. Everything is gray, gray, gray; walls, walls, walls. Corridors leading in every direction. Doors that lead to the same room you passed 10 minutes ago. This twisting and turning, dizzying path continues for an hour or more, and you still push on. Soon you just stop, after coming to a large room you have rushed through 4 times already. It is mostly empty, save for the huge test-tube like vessels you have begun preserving things in. It acts as a sort of sick collection for you, a sort of reminder for all the terrible things you've done. All the horrible things that have happened to you, and the horrible things that you wanted others to feel.

No, in actuallity, you could have braved those things on your own. Just keep pushing on Gamzee, ignore the fact that you haven't seen Goatdad in over a month now, yet again. Ignore the fact that your sopor supply is running low again, and that you fear someday you will run out, and then what would happen?

You know now.

And you reflect back on the merciless killing spree when you snapped.

You feel something akin to regret but you can't feel too regretful in this instance.

You were a motherfucking subbjuggulator after all.

It was your calling.

That makes it right, it makes it natural.

Doesn't it?

Your thought process halts when your eyes drag over the towering test tube that houses your dead lusus. He still looks noble, even now. His tail makes a perfect curve against his white coat. The twisted horns that you share, jut out from his raised head. He looks caught in midmotion, like he might emit a disapproving grunt toward you at an given second. You hate that even in death, he has no flaws. No faults.

But you do, and always will.

His eyes stare coldy down at you, never blinking.

You are a huge fuckup, aren't you.

Especially now with Tavros.

Tavros.

TAVROS!

You had forgotten why you were so desperate to find someone who could help, the whole reason your legs where aching and watery indigo tears still rolled down your scratched up cheeks.

Tav...

You look over your shoulder at him, indigo eyes scanning his flushed face for any sign of life. His face has returned to slightly brown instead of a weird blue color, that's good.

You kneel down and slide him carefully off your back.

Guess you'll have to take care of this little bull on your own.

It's not going to be easy, seeing as you made him like this.

Just looking at his weak, sob wracked body makes you cringe. Every inch of him is limp and frail. The muddy blood has dried around his mouth, flaking off in a grotesque manner. The blood on your shirt hasn't dried however, and it's starting to get cold.

It makes you shiver violently, partly because it is clammy, partly because of how it got there, and just who it came from.

You slowly pull off your shirt, the front clinging to your skin.

It makes a squelching sound as you pull the back fabric free, and you scrounch up your face. No matter how much you adore this troll, having his blood all over you is definitely not something to look forward to.

Though you would drown in it willingly if it only made him be okay again.

Collecting your thoughts again, you reach out and softly touch his face. You are so hesitant, for fear of breaking him, and hurting him more than you already have. He's just so... so precious to you, and you have no fucking idea how you could do this to him.

You are a heartless shitstain on this little guy's life.

You made him curl in on himself and beg you to stop.

You made him flinch, cringe and bleed.

You caused him to scream, and lose all breath.

He did it for you.

You ruined him.

And now, he could be dead because of you.

The tears flow heavier now, because all you can do is stare at his blank face, and wish it could have been different.

That you could have stopped the voices that told you to kill, and that you could have stopped his suffering in seeing you like that.

Yes, his injury made you calm down that murderous rampage then, but what about later.

Later, when you get angry over some petty thing.

Will that Gamzee return? Will you take even more innocent lives of friends?

You hope not.

You hope Tavros can help you fight and defeat that bastard.

You hope he can save you.

But you have to save him first.