A/N: The idea for this came from when I was watching the Evil Dead remake last night, but as I couldn't decide which character I wanted to use, there will be two completely different versions with different pairings in each. Both fics were founded on the same inspirational link, but the plots are completely different, just to clarify.

Sometimes it's funny what people do to cope with things they can't handle. Some of them sit there in silence, isolation, doing whatever they can to stop the thoughts from invading their mind like a plateau of soldiers on a war front. Others just let the thoughts flow through their mind, causing the irreparable damage as the negativity sticks in their mind like persistent fog, seeing the light they seek through the cracks but unable to grasp it, unable to push through the obstacle in their way.

Some people live in blissful ignorance, denying that anything could ever be wrong with their lives, only to be faced with the truth in the deepest recesses of their unconsciousness, while others put their problems on the people around them for whatever reason they may have – whether it to be to seek help, search for attention, or just simply not knowing how to think of anything other than their problems.

Then there are those who take it way too far. There are those who self-harm, mutilate their bodies until there's nothing left, spill their own blood in return for temporary relief – relief that lasts only for seconds, just to return with a bigger impact similar to a cat being hit by a truck.

To spread the range even further, others drowned their pain in promiscuity, whether they truly wanted it or not. Able to forget everything that bothered them as they dealt with a passing reliever was well worth the price, the risk of catching something deadly.

Destroying their own bodies isn't just the only way of coping – some also destroy their minds. Some abuse themselves mentally and emotionally, bring themselves down so far they don't even know how to pick themselves back up. Some of them even become addicted to substances like alcohol and drugs, things that would sooner ruin your mind, your emotions, your everything than it would your own body.

But if Fran had to choose which methods of coping he used, he'd have to pick the most damaging ones – while he was but a fifteen-year-old boy, he had already done most everything on that list. With an addiction to drugs and a bad habit of scavenging alcohol wherever he could, it was hard to say if those two habits were worse than when he'd go out at night when everyone else is asleep, finding whoever he could to sleep with.

The boy didn't consider himself a homosexual – not even heterosexual – he found it hard to be attracted to someone, not just physically, but emotionally, too. If anything, the thought of sleeping with another man disgusted him but the pain that came with sleeping with one was worth the self-loathing – he already hated himself enough; what was the difference if it grew just a tad more?

Sometimes, Fran really wished his self-destruction would kill him sooner – just like how he had paved the way to become like this by killing the only family member he had left, even if it had been an accident.