Boothill sat on one of your workbenches, trying his best not to move. Pieces of his arm were laid messily across a table. The results of another "expedition" where he returned in more pieces than he should've. Seeing as you were already frustrated about that, he listened to every little thing you told him to do.

"Easy fix, right?" the cyborg asked, trying to ease the tension in the air with his classic confidence. You couldn't believe him sometimes, always so stupidly reckless that you ended up patching him up almost everyday.