You shoved another shirt into the box, smiling as the fiery man tore the hangers and tops from your closet. The other people he said that would be there helped a little too, going through drawers and pulling out your pants and shorts. There was one man who just watched and observed, glaring at Endeavour the whole time. Endeavour glared back when he caught sight of him, though he always had a glare on his face. He was pulled aside by the man with dark eyes multiple times, coming back seemingly angrier every time.
You closed the box and went for another one, putting in the last of your shirts. The tired-looking man, the one who kept taking Endeavour from the room, was talking to the man in the police uniform. He wore baggy black clothes and had a strange-looking scarf, which looked stiff, but soft at the same time. Your grubby little hands just had to touch the pale cloth, so you walked over to the two men. The one with the police outfit smiled at you, closing his folder and tucking it under his arm.
"Do you need anything?" He asked, to which you nodded, making grabbing motions to the tired-looking man. The said man reeled away, looking to the one he was talking to then back to you. You huffed and pointed at him, looking back to the one in stereotypical detective clothing. He picked you up and gave you to the one with the scarf, your eyes lighting up with delight as you grabbed the cloth around his neck. Then it got warmer, and you froze.
"What are you doing with them?" Endeavor nearly melted the plastic hanger in his hand, putting it on the bed before any damage could be done to it. His hands were smoking and the flaming facial hair on his face nearly touched the ceiling. The fire detectors had been dead in your apartment for years, and your parents never bothered to put batteries inside. You shuffled uncomfortably in the tired man's hold, not taking a chance to look at your fiery caretaker. You didn't like fire after the accident, probably wouldn't for a while.
"What does it look like? I'm holding them." The black-haired man raised a brow at you as your breaths steadily rose, turning to the detective next to him. He sighed and rubbed his temples, opening the folder he had put under his arm. His eyes trailed to your still form and made sure you weren't looking, then he looked to the tired man and opened the folder. Said male peered at the contents displayed, grimacing at the scene pictured. Two cars and a truck. Six involved and one survivor. Four adults and two children. Two families and a lone driver.
The first car hit, two parents and their children. All three were rushed to the hospital after paramedics got there, the mother and child confirmed dead at the scene, the father dying in the ambulance. They had been heading home after their son's dance recital. Their seven-year-old boy, a dancer in the making, gone after practice. His mother, a woman who worked in retail to help make ends meet, was forever lost to the road. And his father, a man who had continuously looked for a job to help support them, dead after a successful interview.
"They can stand on her own." You could read, albeit not very well. You could understand how the letters came together and formed pronounceable syllables, flitting through your head in that inside voice everyone had. So, when your eyes scanned over the papers the man holding you was also looking at, and after seconds of pronouncing the words in your head, you didn't know what to do. With the information given, that people had been killed by your car, you couldn't comprehend any logical reaction.
The second vehicle hit was your own, your father on the side of the impact. How you were thrown from the car was nothing short of a mystery but given your size and the fact you weren't in a booster seat was a key factor. Your father wasn't as lucky. He wasn't killed instantly, instead he lay there immobile as the car heated. The metal burned him, and the fire raged on his body. He had tried to get out, managing to get his hand through a broken window. But now he wasn't coming home, and the last you saw him, he was bloody and dying.
YOU ARE READING
UnStoppable (MHA Various x Reader)
Fanfiction(Y/N) was, in short, a hypocritical bitch.
