Is- is Makarov d-dead?” Price sighed shakily, a weak smile ghosting across his face. “Yeah son, you got him. You did so good, Simon. I’m so p-proud of you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. He took his hand off of Simon’s wounds, knowing there was nothing he could do

except to try to not prolong his suffering. “J- J-“ Simon choked out, blood bubbling from his lips. “Shhh… don’t try n’ talk anymore son.” Price cooed, cupping Simon’s face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks now. This was Simon, /His/ Lieutenant, /His/ boy.