Have another update! I also posted another fic today if you wanna go check it out!
Aizawa tried not to appear as disjointed as he felt when he walked to the nearest library.
Why did the plan involve him going to some random library at ass-o-clock in the morning? His younger self might have asked. Well, he wouldn't have gotten an answer, because it didn't. This was something he was doing all on his own. But then he would have asked whether this also wasn't just some random library either.
See, there was a little something that most people didn't know. You could ask anybody about how they think the presence of UA in Musutafu has affected life there, and they'd probably give you some bullshit response about reduced crime and increased tourism. But in reality, there was arguably more crime in the area.
It just tended to be the invisible kinds.
The real effect that UA had on Musutafu was that it turned it into a hub of sorts for information and other underground dealings. The criminals and villains involved in drugs and violence tended to steer clear of the area because of their inexperience and generally because of the threat of more heroes looking to arrest them.
No, the presence of UA was no deterrent from crime overall, it just changed the type of crimes. It cleared the riff-raff and created an area where the more dangerous villains could thrive.
Musutafu was a hub for information dealings, diplomacy meetings between rival gangs or villain organizations, and recruitment. See, people also tend to underestimate how many of the poor, homeless, and down-trodden flock to the area in hopes of avoiding getting mugged or raped or killed. This makes the area a prime hunting ground for people willing to wade into crime, or even into villainy.
So here Aizawa was, going to the Musutafu Public Library. Better known by underground heroes and information brokers as a gold-mine for information. This particular library, cultivated by those wise enough to see the value of information for decades, held the largest and most expansive collection of information regarding the history of quirks, their effects on society, and quirk science in general. In fact, one of the librarians was a retired underground pro and their assistant is a high-profile quirk analyst.
All you had to do was ask, and you had a veritable gold-mine or relevant information that could make or break a case, could save or destroy a life, if you so choose to seek it. And seek it he did, because there were children's lives on the line here. Coming to this place was always a risk, the sheer number of criminals and informants and spies that loitered around this library could alert undesirable people to your activities.
Whether said undesirable be your prey or your predator, or both, is always up for debate. That's why it was so risky and so dangerous.
In fact, he had picked up a few stalkers on occasion from this location, ones that he managed to arrest but never told him why he had been followed. (He had been extra cautious after that one time when he had almost been kidnapped by a pursuer.)
The advantages weren't worth the risk in most situations, so Aizawa tended to steer clear. But he felt that he had no choice in this instance. He had to look into quirk theory until he found something—anything—on time loops or just time quirks in general. Or maybe something about dream manipulation?
Anything.
If he could just get some idea of what has been documented as possible. Hell, he would even take rumors at this point.
Anything.
He wasn't sure where the frantic desperation had come from, but it built up in his chest and wouldn't dissipate. But he was starting to wonder if it was an effect of whatever quirk was causing this.
Or maybe it was a key component of it, or the key to escape it.
That's why he needed to visit this damned library. In spite of the anxious pounding of his heart, in spite of the logic that was telling him that since this was a loop he would wake up just fine tomorrow, he felt his body stiffen as soon as he walked through those cursed doors.
Deep breaths. He told himself reluctantly. And if this wasn't enough, there was always the police station and Tsukauchi. Deep breaths and move forward, that's what Oboro would have wanted.
Eraserhead quickly made his way to the unlisted quirk-science section of the library, ignoring the dozens of pairs of eyes that followed his every movement.
Bakugou couldn't help but glance around every corner they passed, check all the rooftops when they stopped before crossing a street, anxiously snap to attention when something made a noise that by all means was normal but seemed out of place in the moment. He was in some weird limbo of pure exhaustion and acute paranoia.
It was hellish, but at the same time it was almost no different from what he had been experiencing for… How many loops had it been? He couldn't even remember anymore. Did it even matter?
He flinched at his own thoughts.
Of course it fucking mattered! How many times had Deku died because of him?
But it's not like he remembered dying anyway, it's all in your head. Why do you care so much? Just let it go…
A voice (that sounded a bit too much like Deku's for his liking) in his mind retorted.
Part of him agreed with the traitorous voice, but at the same time, he couldn't help but immediately disagree with whatever the voice was saying because it sounded so much like Deku. It was kind of pointless, this thought process.
He knew that.
But it wasn't like he could just start a conversation with Deku as they walked, and it wasn't as if he could just shut off his fucking brain. Of course, he also knew that getting lost in his head kept him from checking his surroundings constantly which made his chest tight and his fingers almost ache, but it wasn't an ache it was more like an itch but without the physical feeling.
Bakugou couldn't fucking tell what it was, couldn't even fucking describe it if he even bothered to try, but he fucking hated it.
He had a new building feeling, an urge that paralleled his growing tightness and rising frustration. There were no words in his vocabulary that could aptly describe what it was like, but all he knew was that he needed it to stop. And before he knew it, he stopped walking and violently—but with little intention to harm—shook his arms in place. His shoulders quickly followed suit and he wondered what the fuck he was even doing.
But before he knew it—and before Deku could even ask what the fuck he was doing (not in those words, he knew Deku would dissolve into an inconsolable mess if he said anything worse than "damn")—it was over and he returned to being still.
The pent up whatever that was had dissipated and he was left standing there with an awkward emptiness as Deku stared at him with pity.
...Not pity, concern.
Fuck, of course it would only be obvious to him now! Of course he would only be able to tell the difference between pity and the fucking look on Deku's face. Fucking fuck bitch-ass motherfucker!
Bakugou quickly whirled around to avoid looking at Deku. Fucking hell, he really was a failure.
He knew that they shouldn't waste time, but the blonde didn't really want to move from where he stood. The city ambiance seemed so distant as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to keep his muscles relaxed, as though that would dispel the slight unease that whatever that was left him with.
It felt like time was dragging so slowly, he just wished Deku would do something to break this spell of inaction, because he sure as hell couldn't seem to do it himself. How pathetic.
But he didn't. And frankly at this point, knowing what he knew, knowing how much he screwed it all up, how much of this was his fault, he couldn't really blame the damn nerd for it either.
"K-Kacchan?" Deku spoke up, barely audible. Bakugou blinked in surprise, and sure enough just that damned nickname was enough to break him out of his stupor.
"Fuck, let's keep moving," he tried to pretend like that didn't just happen, instead spinning around and managing to slam right into Deku (who surprisingly didn't fall?) and return to a stand-still.
They stood in an awkward silence once more before Bakugou couldn't stand it anymore, "The fuck are you doing? Lead the damn way so we can be done with this shit."
He didn't even yell, but Deku still flinched and curled in on himself as his anxious stutters came out, "A-ah, um w-we're alaeyr-already he-here…"
The blonde just blinked at him blankly for what was probably the millionth time that day as Deku hunched even further and seemed to brace himself. He finally looked up and took in his surroundings. Well fuck, then. When the hell had they gotten this far outside of downtown Musutafu? No wonder the city noise had seemed so faded, they weren't exactly in the busy part of the city anymore!
But that also meant that his time was drastically slipping away from him and he still had no plan as to what he needed to say to this fucker. What if he wasn't even home? Goddamn it.
Bakugou stole another glance at Deku and fuck. Apparently the nerd could tell how nervous he was, but that coupled with his natural empathy and lack of reasons why Bakugou would be nervous led to the nerd's growing anxiety. Fuck, he could practically feel how his own nervousness was reflected in Deku which then ramped up his own unease and it was just a whole-ass never-ending cycle, wasn't it? Fucking hell.
Bakugou let out a "tch" out of habit, hoping it would calm his nerves, which it didn't. But it did seem to reduce Deku's anxiety, so at least there was that.
He knew he had to go up there, but his feet felt frozen and his ankles didn't really feel cooperative today either, apparently.
He was absolutely, decidedly not ready for this shitty conversation that was about to go down and may or may not end in someone getting hurt, if what had happened to Deku yesterday was anything to go by. Which it probably was.
But then by that logic, you should be beating Deku up for talking back to you even though he did nothing of the sort and you know it. You're just confusing him because you aren't acting like normal. And yet you go and try to judge other people based on their actions in a specific circumstance. How hypocritical.
He grit his teeth and reasoned that this situation was going to be pretty fucking similar to yesterday's, but that didn't change the fact that Deku was still waiting for a violent response from him. So he took a deep breath—one that expanded his chest and stomach further than he ever had before, one that made his ribs almost ache and his stomach lurch with the pressure of expanding—and rubbed at his temples where the beginnings of a headache had begun to form.
When was the last time he had drank water, exactly? Whatever, that was irrelevant.
"Right. I'll go up there and knock then," he said, as equally surprised as Deku clearly was by how smooth and effortlessly the response left him.
Bakugou tried to push all of the intrusive thoughts out of his head as he made his way to the front door. Deku had brought them to a well-off neighborhood, one not unlike his own but also somehow more privileged. But that was kind of odd, because hadn't Yoshiko been using miscellaneous school supplies and clearly worn backpacks for most of her time at Aldera? So what had changed?
He couldn't seem to come up with any sort of answer before he made it to their porch. He could feel his heart thrumming anxiously, to the point where he could feel the rhythm thudding in his empty stomach (damn, he hadn't really eaten either, had he?) and pulsing in his fingers.
Bakugou didn't have much time to think before the door slammed open and almost hit him. He scrambled back and a vaguely familiar man viciously stepped out and froze at the sight of him and Deku on his property.
The man pushed Bakugou off of his porch—surprisingly painlessly, but still not anything near gently—and slammed the door shut behind him. The man turned the lock with a 'click' without letting his gaze stray away from Bakugou.
If Bakugou had been anxious before, it was safe to say he was on the verge of a panic attack right about now.
The man narrowed his eyes and practically growled, "What the fuck did you do?!"