Because, according to SammyClassicSonicFan, "You fricking fricks. When will you learn? When will you learn that your actions have consequences!?"

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Okay but actual warnings: Izuku feels like a dumb idiot, Izuku gets his shit together, cursing because AoT and BNHA. What you'd expect from both shows, really.

Kohei Horikoshi owns MHA. Hajime Isayama owns AOT. I own this thing.

Izuku breathes, and the green around him oscillates with him.

He blinks.

The green still moves.

Hoisting himself off the solid floor, Izuku's gloved hands are met with a bramble of sticks and the sensation of some sort of moistened slush sticking to the tattered fabric on his palms.

The green, he observes, are leaves.

Another blink passes, and the somewhat fuzzy haze that spots his eyes begin to clear as a fascinating sense of fresh terror bubbles up in Izuku's stomach. With new vigor, he springs to his feet and assumes All Might's fighting stance: legs wide apart, knees bent, and arms locked into position, ripe for the punch.

He studies his environment, jerking himself left and right, ever aware of the looming sense of trepidation dangling over him, taunting. Breaths sparse and jagged, he feels the slush of soil and decomposing leaves squish against his feet as he twists about.

There is nothing out there, nothing that he can see, at least.

The feeling of dread doesn't leave, but he slowly releases his stance and relaxes his taut muscles. His head turns up towards the sky, and the immaculately green veil of leaves shines with the droplets of the sun that seep through.

His breathing soothes, and he finally breaks free from the frenzy of fight-or-flight instinct, only left with the ever-present sensation of wrongness.

All Might…

The guilt hits him like a truck, and he collapses, silent, to his knees in the soundless forest. His eyes glisten, and his hands clench the earth beneath him, yearning for some relief in the wake of his newfound hollowness.

A sob wracks his frame, and the tears soon follow suit, marching down his face swiftly, deftly. The liquid drips off of his chin onto the forest floor, adding to the silent mayhem of festering soil.

The questions that arise in his head are met without an answer, and he can only wonder how horribly things are going on his mentor's end. Who is he, thinking that he could help the number one hero in a fight against that monster–

Did he even accomplish anything?

Was this worth it?

In his isolation, Izuku thinks, emphatically, that no, it was not.

Despite this, Izuku rises to his feet, sloppily wipes his face clear of mucus and tears, and steadies himself. If this is the result of his own actions, then he'll have to deal with it, he decides. All Might is a hero and can handle himself, Izuku knows that much.

It's himself that he should be worried about. Stranded, essentially Quirkless, and mentally distraught: a fine combination, he thinks bitterly.

He wipes the muck off of his gloves onto his already worse-for-wear USJ outfit. With some speculation, Izuku considers taking off the tarnished gloves but eventually decides to hold onto it, just in case he needs to use his Quirk on some unfortunate soul.

A pulsing brand of soreness makes itself known in his battered shoulders and knees whilst weariness invades his mind. Adrenaline-struck Izuku is no more, it seems.

Tiredly, Izuku slams foot after foot forward to the nearest tree. He remembers a key piece of survival information, from Kacchan of all people– after all those years of camping in the local woods.

Take stock of his situation, right. Simple enough, you can't do anything without knowing what you're working with first.

Slumping against the grainy wood, Izuku slides to the floor and holds his head in his hands. The events that had transpired in the last few minutes were a blur, quite literally. With his world twisting around due to Kurogiri's less-than-convenient Quirk, Izuku was left incredibly disoriented and, worse, displaced.

Teleportation seems to be the main culprit here, but where exactly did the Quirk land him? It is obviously a forest, Izuku concludes, but it can't be too far from Japan, right? Adversely, Kurogiri's teleportation could have landed him on another planet and he would know no better.

Izuku pales a bit, but he keeps calm, shaking his head in his clasped palms.

Focus, focus. If he can't determine the past, then he'll have to determine the now. It's fine, he decides, nothing he can't handle.

Looking at his USJ outfit, Izuku reaffirms how tarnished it's beginning to get only after one use. It was not well designed for moist, earthy environments and its weaknesses are beginning to show. With a grimace, Izuku realizes that he'll have to find a way to clean it if he wants to stand a chance at keeping warm in the frigid, nocturne air.

Izuku starts to empty his suit pockets and finds some essentials that he had previously asked for out of a skittish paranoia: a pocket knife, a fire-starter, and a whistle. Nothing out of the ordinary for an un-flashy rescue hero, Izuku had thought, but most definitely abnormal for someone with a Quirk like his. He still remembers the looks he got from the Support Department for asking…

Yet, he thinks, the tree bears some fruit after all.

It's safe to say that he will always ask for extra supplies in the future.

He also stumbles upon his phone, wildly cracked at the corners but still somewhat functional, but the device is met with no bars. He quickly shuts it down and puts it back into his pocket in hopes of preserving the battery so that he could use it if the opportunity arises.

With that settled, Izuku starts to check himself.

Broken finger aside, his body's persistent soreness is the only thing keeping him from functioning at 100%. Flexing his hand with the broken finger, he finds the pain to be mild, if not ebbing away, but Izuku also knows that the finger will not heal correctly without some sort of intervention. Making a cast or maybe some sort of stint for it would be a necessity down the line, but not before food and water and shelter and people…

And god, he is beginning to regret his tendency to run into a fight head-first with each passing moment.

Well, this can be different, he thinks. Rather than a fight of brawn, this is a fight of mental fortitude and cleverness.

And if there's one thing that Izuku is good at, it's surviving without getting noticed by a goddamn thing.

Building a shelter, Izuku decides, is incredibly difficult when the trees around you are a hundred meters tall.

Sure, he has found a river with fresh water, a huge plus in his book, but there are bigger fish to fry.

Such as getting food. And shelter. And civilization.

Sitting by the riverbank, Izuku cups a handful of water with his bare hands and slurps it up. He didn't feel the pangs of dehydration at the USJ, but a lack of water is the kind of thing you begin to notice after you've lost access to it.

As he takes his fill, Izuku ponders the likelihood of finding a food source. Many of the animals that are usually present in a forest have yet to be seen, and the trees around him are colossal to the point that climbing them in hope of food would be a waste of time and energy.

Izuku doesn't want to use his Quirk, not yet, at least. Losing a finger or a toe for a lousy fruit is a horrible trade-off, especially when he could be faced with worse in the future. If anything, his Quirk is a last resort, an ultimatum.

Now rinsing his hands in the cool stream of water, Izuku feels the tickle of the cold fluid upon his single injured finger. He wriggles it a bit, testing its mobility. The little appendage juts forward and back, albeit sloppily. The water really helps, the chill numbing it down ever so slightly.

Closing his eyes, Izuku lets the barely frigid liquid rush against his skin, reveling in the softer pangs of pain as the heat of his throbbing, reddened wound dulls just slightly. Just a few seconds of peace after all this ruckus would help him clear his mind, he thinks.

Decisively, Izuku retracts his ungloved hand from the water and shakes it dry. With the remaining moistness wiped off on his soiled shirt, he slips the foul glove back onto the hand and begins to head West, following the Sun's afternoon glimmer through the canopy of trees.

As his feet move absently towards the ever-unattainable light, Izuku mulls over his options, dreading the thought of starvation. The river was a constant, always there and always an option for water, but a source of food, much like a wild rabbit, is small and always fleeting.

His eyes glare into the distance, unfocused as he takes measured steps to conserve his already waning energy. Yet, suddenly–

A twig snaps.

Izuku sluggishly cranes his neck towards the offending noise, and he is met with a face.

A very, very large face belonging to an almost ridiculously small torso with even more ridiculously proportioned limbs.

The oddly-shaped man has his beady eyes transfixed upon Izuku, small, angled limbs anchored into the dirt as if he is ready to launch himself at the young boy.

Izuku first staggers, then he stares, and then he runs, unwilling to guess the intentions of the giant-headed beast looming behind him.

Quick note: sorry for the long wait. I'm in college application season still and it's a bitch. Next chapter is going in a completely different direction than before.