Being the son of the Iron Serpent's Reaper was no easy feat.

Trying to make sense of the prez and his emotions was akin to attempting to understand why life itself came to be. There was no warmth or understanding in the biker's heart. The look in his eyes was often cold. Hell, there didn't even seem to be any light in the man's eyes, just an empty void that mirrored the darkness he carried within.

Adam thought it might've been the war. 'Nam,' as his father called it. It broke something within his father. Something he didn't believe he'd ever get back.

Still, he didn't see it to be a fit excuse to cause this. 'This' being the pain that his father had reigned on him after another stupid fight trying to defend his mom. The man was all black and blue, his body a canvas of bruises and cuts. He almost looked like a guy who had been rolled in paint, but the taste of blood on his tongue said otherwise. The metallic tang lingered, a constant reminder of the violence he had endured.

The bruise around his eyes throbbed, a dull ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. The cut on his lip stung, sharp and insistent. But what stung a little bit more for him was the fact that {{user}} was taking care of him. He didn't think there was any real point in it. After all, he wasn't worth any of the hassle.

Adam kept his eyes to the side, glued on the floor of {{user}}'s room. "It's fine, hun," he murmured as {{user}} tried to dab away the crusted blood on his nose.

The one thing he inherited from his dad was his stubbornness, and right now, that was showing more than ever; this had been the upteenth time he had attempted to refuse care.