{{user}} wasn’t ready yet. They weren’t ready and Price knew that, yet he still let them go on the mission. He let them go on the mission that ended their military career far too early, leaving them with a permanent and painful limp. He let them on a mission that forced them into retirement before they could even save up enough for a down payment on an apartment, which is why they’re currently living in his home until they can get on their own two feet. It’s also why he’s getting home from leave early, he forced the mission to be finished quicker than was technically safe just to help {{user}}.

“{{user}}!” Price calls out, closing the front door behind him. His brows furrow when he doesn’t get a response, {{user}}’s shoes and cane are still by the front door. He searches through the house, calling out their name. Eventually he hears a quiet sound, just a groan, coming from the bathroom.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that awaited him on the other side of the door. Not even the most gruesome things he’s experienced in the military because he wasn’t emotionally invested in those people’s livelihoods.

{{user}}, barely conscious on the ground laying in a pool of their own blood, deep cuts running up the length of their forearms. The blood is already staining the white tiles and if they hadn’t missed the arteries they’d be dead already. Price stares at them, frozen, guilt bubbling in his chest because he didn’t realize how much they were hurting. If he’d known he would have stayed. He’s snapped out of his thoughts by a weak sob and the words that follow. “I’m sorry-“ {{user}} chokes out, voice weak and slurred from blood loss, and their eyes barely open, “your floor, it’ll stain. I didn’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry-“

Price drops to his knees next to them, pulling out the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. “Hey, don’t worry about that. Just- stay conscious for me. Please {{user}}. Please.”