A/n: I waffled a lot over posting this story since I don't want to overwhelm myself with WIPs. But I've gotten to the point where I need validation or I'll start losing motivation to write more chapters for it. I have 4 chapters complete so far and I'll release them slowly (or quickly, if I get impatient) over the next couple weeks.

Also, please check out my Tumblr (find it in my profile). I'll be using it to give updates, notes, ask for opinions, etc, etc.

The story title is a song by Avenged Sevenfold, which inspired this.

Warnings/Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Underage Drinking, Violence/Blood, Underage Consensual Relationship (not explicit), Polyamorous Relationship, M/M/M Relationship

Twenty-two. That was the number of job rejections cluttering his email inbox.

Seventeen. That was the number of highschool rejection letters nestled in his backpack.

Ten. That was the number of spider lilies he'd received on his desk since the last year of middle school began four months ago.

Five. That was the number of weeks it had been since he'd been allowed home.

One. That was the number of the hero who finally broke him.

Finding a tall enough building was easy. There were plenty of seven story or taller businesses and apartments in downtown Musutafu. Being homeless for a couple weeks worked to Izuku's advantage, as he could scope out the structures at night. The hard part was getting to the roof.

Most of the buildings were designed so only maintenance workers could access the roofs. It left very few options but perseverance paid off. Eventually his wandering found a condemned apartment building. The place had been shut down because of a fire on some of the upper floors. During evacuations the fire escapes had been deployed and never reset.

Heights thankfully never bothered him. After wiggling through a gap in the fence surrounding the property, it was an easy (with desperation fueled adrenalin) nine story climb to the top. The pollution-spoiled wind on his face had never smelled sweeter as he hefted himself up and surveyed the area.

The roof was cramped due to several large water tanks and central air conditioning units, but all four edges were accessible. That was a relief because he didn't want to inconvenience too many people with his plan. This building was perfect since there weren't many other structures nearby and a parking lot took up the entire west facing side. Beyond the lot was a thick line of trees. If he jumped from there, his corpse wouldn't be visible from the road or nearby buildings. Fewer people would be traumatized.

He went to the west side of the roof and sat down to take off his shoes. Next, his backpack. From the pack he pulled out a flashlight and a notebook that was scorched and water damaged. The note was already written but he wanted to double check it one last time. Clicking on the flashlight, he turned to the page signed by All-Might. The note was opposite the signature.

Just as Izuku settled in to reread his intended last words, something grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. He struggled as much as he could without dropping the light or book, it didn't do much good. A yelp escaped as he was dragged some distance before being thrown to the ground.

"Do we have a little spy, Kurogiri?"

"I do not know, Master Shigaraki." That voice came from much closer, presumably the person who grabbed him.

Turning and peering up, two glowing yellow eyes stared down at him. In the light of the flashlight a second figure emerged from the darkness. Their features were obscured by messy pale blue hair and a disembodied hand gripping their face. They were presumably male, by the tenor of their voice.

"What have you been writing, brat? Were you listening in on us?" Shigaraki stalked forward and ripped the notebook from Izuku's grasp before he could stutter out a protest, followed by the flashlight.

Several tense moments passed as the man leafed through the unreadable analysis pages until he found the only legible parts, the suicide letter and the pro hero's signature. Shame and humiliation coursed through Izuku. He'd poured some of his sob story into the note, intending it to only be read after he was dead. Some of it sounded pathetic and whiny even to himself.

When the man finally looked up Izuku hunched in on himself with a cringe. He fully expected Shigaraki to taunt him like Kacchan would have, or at least react with ambivalence like all the other adults he'd spoken to. To Izuku's shock, the man knelt down in front of him and patted him on the head.

"I can kill you, if you really want. But it seems like a waste. How about some revenge instead?" His palm stayed a warm weight in Izuku's hair.

Revenge? It had crossed Izuku's mind before. In fact, he had allowed himself the selfishness of naming Katsuki culpable in his suicide, so the other boy might not get into UA. It was the only power he had.

The note hadn't mentioned his lack of a quirk, so Izuku felt compelled to point it out. It wouldn't do to waste this villain's valuable time. "I-I… I'm… quirkless."

The quiet confession made him close his eyes tight, anticipating the pain of Shigaraki putting him out of his misery. It never came. Instead he felt four fingers curl to lightly knead his scalp.

"That's not what I asked. Yes or no. Do you want revenge?"

After a moment of trying to wrap his mind around the situation, Izuku bit his lip with a tentative nod. "Y-yes."

The man hummed before climbing to his feet. "Kurogiri, bring him. I don't think this place is suitable for a base, let's head back."

"As you wish." The shadowy man leaned down to help Izuku up. Though he seemed to be made of purple and black cloud-like particles, his hands were warm and solid against the greenette's arms. "I apologize for frightening you. Please step this way."

Izuku complied, shuffling forward into a swirling black portal that opened in front of them. The world went dark, silent, and cold before he found himself in a run-down living room. While clean, the sparse furniture seemed shabby, the carpet was threadbare, and the paint on the walls was peeling. The only new looking things in the room were a TV and a gaming console.

Behind him, Shigaraki and Kurogiri stepped out of the portal. Seeing them in better lighting put him more at ease. They were both intimidating, since Izuku didn't know what to make of the situation or their intentions, but seeing them meant being able to better predict their physical movements.

The shadowy man held out Izuku's yellow backpack and red shoes with a polite bow. "What may we call you?"

Izuku took the items and hugged them to his chest, fidgeting. "Izuku Midoriya. Um… j-just Izuku is fine."

"Izuku-san, are you hungry?"

Being addressed with such respect caused a blush to creep across his face. He bit his bottom lip as he pondered. Of course he was starving, literally. The last meal he had was half a teriyaki burger from a dumpster three days ago. Kacchan had been ruining his school lunches when he could afford them. Still, it felt wrong to have his new hosts waste food on him.

The seconds ticked by as he struggled with himself. Finally, Shigaraki rolled his eyes and disappeared into the kitchen, returning after a moment to shove a plastic wrapped sandwich on top of the backpack Izuku still clutched. "Eat, shrimp."

With that, the man flopped onto the couch and settled in to play some video games, completely ignoring Izuku. That at least was a reaction the greenette was comfortable with. Moving quietly, he placed his shoes by the entrance door and slid to the floor in front of the couch, keeping a respectful distance from Shigaraki. He then hesitantly began eating while watching the TV.

At some point Kurogiri retreated into a different room, leaving the two alone. When Izuku was finished with the sandwich he was still hungry, but kept quiet. To distract himself from the stomach pains he tried to subtly observe Shigaraki from the corner of his eye.

The hand covering his face appeared to be real, if discolored by whatever preservation method was used. The fact that Shigaraki wore severed body parts as decorations should have alarmed Izuku, but he only felt mild concern. He still wanted to die, so if his hands joined the others it wouldn't bother him. Having a use after death actually made him feel better.

The man held the game controller with only eight fingers, pinkies raised. That made Izuku wonder what his quirk was. Clearly it was touch activated. What skin he could see appeared dry and extremely pale. Red lines littered his neck, like he scratched often.

A side effect of his power? Did moisturizers help or make it worse? Maybe a type of dehydration quirk? Izuku wanted to write down his observations and ask questions but feared being seen as rude or creepy.

Red eyes snapped in his direction after a moment, narrowed in irritation. "What's with the mumbling?" The frown was clear in his voice.

Izuku flinched violently, clapping a hand over his mouth. "S-sorry!" His voice shook and was barely audible. He waited with his gaze glued to the floor, expecting a blow. The eyes and tone reminded him vividly of Kacchan in that moment. To say nothing of the beatings his father doled out when he caught Izuku muttering.

After several seconds of nothing happening he gathered his courage to peek at the man. He was staring now, expression hard to read. Finally, "it was just a question. Stop freaking out." Shigaraki turned his attention back to his game, ignoring the greenette again.

With the lack of attention Izuku's heart rate returned to normal. Confusion clouded his mind. Of anyone, he expected a villain to be worse than his classmates or family. Yet so far they'd stopped his suicide attempt, took him into their home, and fed him. He'd clearly annoyed the one in charge, but he wasn't punished. Izuku found himself watching Shigaraki again, this time simply trying to figure out what was going on.

At some point Izuku's eyes began to grow heavy and he had to repress a yawn. Turning his attention to the TV, he tried to ignore the growing fatigue. Asking for a bed, or even the couch, was out of the question. Already he was imposing, he refused to displace anyone.

Before he knew it, he was asleep, head listing back to rest against a couch cushion.