The One With The Accident
Pairing: Robbie Reyes x Reader
Summary: After not only saving Gabe the night of the accident, but also you, Robbie struggles to keep his identity a secret from you as you search for answers. What’s worse is that he’s falling for you when he very well knows that he’ll have to kill you if you find out who he is.
A/N: First Agents of Shield imagine!!! I thought I’d have so much time to do Robbie imagines but I just caught up and he’s gone and I’m feeling too many emotions???
MASTERLIST, MOBILE MASTERLIST (you can like it and save it for later!)
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You were sure you were dead. There wasn’t a light at the end of a tunnel or a flashback of memories. Just a feeling – like you were being clawed at; dragged.
You weren’t sure where.
It was momentary.
A minute, maybe a few seconds and then you were back. Back on the uneven road, lying beside a car which you were sure you had been pinned under just moments ago. You could see something far away. You vision was cloudy.
A fire? A man?
There was blood in your eyes and your ears were ringing but you managed to make out a figure standing above you, his hands moving hastily, trying to find a way to pick you up without making anything worse.
He kept looking beside you, “You’re okay, Gabe,” he says. You shift your head to see another figure lying beside you, crying but still alive.
You on the other hand, were barely alive at all.
You hear the ringing of the ambulance siren as it approaches and soon you’re being picked up and loaded into the back.
You could see the car, turned over and in flames where it had hit you. How did you get out from under it when it had you pinned to the floor? How were you still breathing?
“I’m Robbie.”
Those words – his voice – were the first thing you heard when you woke up.
“It’s okay,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder as you shift uncomfortably, trying to remove the oxygen mask, “You were in an accident. You’re at the hospital now. You’re going to be okay.”
“The car-“
How did you get here? Who saved you?
“It was my car. Someone hit my brother and me – someone fired at us and I swerved. I hit you,” he says, his voice strained.
“Who got me out from under the car?” you ask weakly. His eyes widen slightly, “Y-you weren’t under the car. It just hit you,” he says.
“I felt someone dragging me,” you frown.
“I dragged you away from the car before it blew up,” he lies.
You were sure you had been pinned under it but you nod anyway, “Thank you,” you say. You inhale sharply, “Who was firing at you?”
You were vaguely able to recall the sound of gunshots before you heard screeching tyres and saw the car skidding towards you.
“Get some rest,” he says, “I have to go see my brother.”
He looked rough. A leather jacket and grease covered hands. Even on a good day he seemed like the type of person who’d look exhausted – and this was a bad day.
“Okay,” you nod.
“I tried to contact some family for you but the hospital said-“
“I don’t have any,” you smile, “My emergency contact is a friend. She’ll be here soon. Go see your brother.”
You hated hospitals. You didn’t have family to visit you and your emergency contact wasn’t a friend, it was your boss who luckily never answered his phone. At least you didn’t have to worry about him showing up and yelling at you for waking him in the middle of the night.
You’d gotten off with a broken arm and leg – a major concussion - and despite your low threshold for pain, you thank God that you got off easy.
But each time you thought about the accident, something cold washed over you. The feeling of that place. The pain of the accident – it didn’t feel as simple as Robbie had described.
Fortunately, you had Gabe to keep you company. He’d apologized to you millions of times despite you reminding him it wasn’t his or Robbie’s fault.
Robbie, however, avoided you like the plague. You knew how guilty he felt – somewhere deep down you were mad at him- more for hiding something from you than for hurting you.
But you couldn’t exactly confront him when he was always hiding from you – and you didn’t know him well enough to make a scene. Still, your patience was wearing thin.
“So, is Robbie coming by today?” you ask Gabe. He sets his hand of cards down and looks at you sceptically, “What’s with you always asking about my brother?”
“He did hit me with a car.” You sigh when Gabe looks unsettled, “I’m not mad at him or anything. I just have questions.”
“About who saved you?”
“Yeah,” your eyes widen.
“My brother said someone pulled us out of the car – I barely saw him.”
“W-wait? Your brother didn’t pull us out?”
“No. Some good Samaritan.”
Gabe could see what he said had unsettled you.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you shake your head, “I should really get some rest though. I’m being discharged tomorrow.”
“Great,” Gabe says, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“I’ll visit,” you promise him, “I’m out of a job since I took so much time off.”
“It was a week,” he frowns.
“Well, my boss is an asshole,” you sigh, “I’ll see you around. Call me if you need anything.”
You smile crookedly as you leave.
Lucky for you, being nice to the staff at the hospital meant you could visit Gabe after visiting hours.
What wasn’t so lucky was that his bedtime was much earlier.
“What are you doing here?”
You jump at the sound of Robbie’s voice.
“I was just visiting Gabe,” you say, nodding towards his bed, “He’s out early tonight.”
“He needs the rest,” Robbie says.
“Looks like you do too,” you say, giving him a once over. He was covered in grime – you assumed from a car he’d been working on. His eyes were bloodshot and his breathing was heavy.
“I’m fine,” he says. He signals for you to follow him outside, pulling the door shut behind him.
“What are you really doing here?” he asks, “Gabe told me you’ve been asking questions. Questions about what pulled you out.”
“Who pulled me out,” you correct him, “And yeah, I have. Because you told him some guy pulled us out and you told me that I wasn’t pinned under anything and that you just dragged me away. So which is it?”
Robbie pushes you into an empty room and locks the door behind him. You wince, rubbing your shoulder and trying to readjust your sling and the cast.
“What did you see that night?”
His voice was a low growl.
You back away from him, “I – I don’t know. I felt it. I felt like I was being dragged and then I saw a figure – you, I think. Walking away from a fire or into one, I don’t know,” you mumble quietly.
“Who have you told?” he asks, closing the gap between you two. You look at the floor – you could feel his breath one you, “Who?” he repeats.
“No one,” you shake your head, “I – I just want to understand. That place – that place I was in when I was dead. Was it hell?”
You weren’t sure why you were asking him.
“You don’t belong in hell,” he says, “Wherever you were, it wasn’t hell.” His voice was softer.
“Okay,” you nod, growing nervous, “I believe you.” You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, “I should go.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, “I can’t let you do that.” He turns away from you, “I made a promise,” he says. He could feel the fire rising within him. It wasn’t him who decided who lived and died – he knew you were innocent, so did the ghost rider – but if you were a risk to its revenge, to its mission, then you couldn’t be left alive.
“I know,” you nod, staring at his back, “You need to take care of Gabe and me poking around so much while he’s still healing and trying to make sense of everything isn’t helping. I guess I was just trying to make sense of it myself,” you sigh, “I guess having a near death experience made me crazy and insensitive.” You place a hand on his shoulder, turning him to face you, “You won’t hear from me again,” you reassure him. He opens his eyes and they’re their usual brown colour. He tries hard to keep them that way. As long as you stopped poking around, there was no reason for him to get rid of you.
“No,” he shakes his head, “Gabe – he likes having you around. Thinks you’re good for us – him,” he mumbles, “I think you’re good for him. I can’t be around as much as I’d like to.”
His fists were balled up by his sides, as though he was fighting an urge.
“Well, I’m jobless so I have a lot of free time to come and visit,” you say.
“Are you good with your hands?” he asks.
Your eyes widen, “W-what?”
“I mean – I’m not – that wasn’t-“ he shakes his head, “I wouldn’t mind having some time off to see Gabe. I have a lot of paperwork at the shed. I can pay you for it.”
Between running the shed, fixing cars and his night job, he’d barely had any time to check up on Gabe.
“Sure,” you nod, “T-that’d be great.”
He stares at you, “Everything else,” he says, “Forget it. It’s not worth wasting your life on. Someone pulled us out of that accident but trying to figure out who or what he is, is just a waste of time. Trust me, I gave up my search.”
After taking up a job at Robbie’s shed, you hadn’t expected to become so involved in their lives – yet there you were, living with them.
Robbie was out most of the time so you usually slept in his room and he’d take the couch if he came home. You felt bad but the one time you tried to sleep on the couch, you fell off and your elbow came right out of the socket again – plus, trying to elevate a broken leg on a couch was incredibly difficult.
Despite being with them for four months, neither you nor Gabe had any idea what his night job was. You imagined it was at a fight club – the way he looked coming home when Gabe was asleep. But you didn’t say anything. You’d just squeeze your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep while he grabbed fresh clothes from his room and took a shower.
But tonight was different. He didn’t come in quietly or stealthily.
You hear a thump against the door and a low groan. You flick the light on to find Robbie slumped against the wall, bleeding from his nose – his mouth – generally, just covered in blood.
“Shit,” you mumble, crouching down beside him.
“Don’t,” he grunts, slapping your hand away.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” you say, quietly, trying not to wake Gabe, “Please,” you plead, “You need help.”
“There’s a first aid box in the bathroom,” he winces as he points a finger at it.
“I don’t think a few band aids and antiseptic can fix this,” you say. You place a hand on his cheek, tilting his head to get a better look.
“It’ll do,” he says, struggling to move in an attempt to get his jacket off.
“Here,” you say, pushing his hands away and pulling him up. He groans as you lay him down on the bed.
He had his hand clasped over his lower stomach and you move it away.
“I’m going to take your jacket off, okay?” you say. You unzip it and slowly pull his arms out. His t-shirt was soaked in blood. You gag slightly when you lift it up, squinting at the wound in horror.
“Did someone shoot you? We need to call the cops! We-“
“Just get the bullet out-“ he says.
“I- I can’t fucking take that out! Are you crazy?!”
“Shhh,” he hisses, “Just go get the kit.”
You swallow hard, rushing into the bathroom and coming out with a first aid kit the size of your hand, “Are you kidding me?” you ask.
He takes it out of your hand, his own hand shaking. He holds his t-shirt between his teeth and opens the bottle of antiseptic, pouring it over the open wound.
You could hear a stifled groan of pain as he squeezes his eyes shut.
“Okay, stop, stop,” you say, snatching it out of his hand, “I’ll do it.” You pour it onto your hands before drenching a cotton swab and dabbing at the wound. Robbie sits up, steadying your hand when he realizes you’re crying.
“It’s fine,” you mumble, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, “I just want to throw up is all,” you grumble sarcastically.
“It’s okay,” he says, resting his forehead against yours, “You can do it.”
“I don’t understand,” you sob, setting the bottle down.
“You have to feel around for the bullet first. Make sure it’s not lodged into anything,” he says, “Then get it out with the tweezers.”
“I can’t,” you shake your head.
He places a hand on your cheek. Through the blur of tears in your eyes, you could see his face inching closer and the warmth of his lips against yours. The sound of both of your breathing fills the room. He was grasping for you, pulling you closer against him.
“Robbie,” you pull away.
“I need you,” he whispers, against your lips.
“I’m here,” you promise him, “But I can’t do this on my own. I know a doctor – let me take you to her… please.”
He nods, “No hospital.”
“No hospital,” you reassure him.
“And I’m driving,” he says. You wanted to protest but if it was the only way you could get him to agree, you didn’t have much of a choice.
Once behind the wheel of his car, his pain seemed to ease a little.
“I swear this car is magic,” you mumble, buckling him in, “Can I please just drive?”
Robbie doesn’t answer, his eyes pinned ahead.
“You’re so out of it,” you say, waving a hand in his face. He catches your hand by the wrist, turning to you with dark eyes that within a blink are engulfed by a literal red rage
“Robbie… your eyes,” you gasp, trying to pull your hand out his grasp.
“Don’t try stop me,” he grunts in pain. He kicks the car into gear, speeding out of the shed.
“ROBBIE!” you yell. He was speeding, swerving.
“ROBBIE, STOP!” you scream. You felt like you were reliving the accident, “Please, stop! I can’t – I can’t breathe-“ you gasp for air.
What a great time for your first panic attack. When you try grab the wheel, he slams your head against the window and you feel blood trickle into your eyes.
He pulls over near an empty looking diner with bikes parked out by the front. He stares through the windshield as a few bikers come out – all laughing, drunk.
Black spots were clouding your vision and you pull the passenger door open, falling out onto the pavement, gasping for air.
“Well, what do we have here,” one man says, waking over to you.
You see Robbie’s figure walk in front of you, cutting the man off but as you look up, you realize it’s not Robbie at all.
You could feel the heat emanating off his body at the fire engulfed skull grabbed the man by the throat.
You lay flat down on the pavement. You could hear yelling, screaming – it goes on for a while until eventually it all dies down. You hear footsteps approaching you. You see the ghost rider looking down at you – the terrible monster you’d read about in the papers – and then you see its face morph into Robbie’s before you pass out.
“She’s up,” Daisy says. Robbie barges into the room, taking your hand in his.
“She’s alright,” Jemma says, “A concussion but according to her medical records, she’s had worse.”
“She keeps getting hurt because of me,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
You groan, blinking repeatedly as the room comes into focus. You snatch your hand out of Robbie’s grasp, shooting straight up so your back is pressed against the wall.
You pull the IV out of your arm but Daisy holds you down.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Jemma says, placing a hand over yours. You pull it away, tracing your fingers over the stiches in your forehead.
“I’m sorry,” Robbie says, reaching a hand out. You move away, scared, “You killed those men! You would’ve killed me!”
“No,” he shakes his head, “I would never hurt you. Those men were murderers – they deserved what they got. You were never in any danger… it wouldn’t hurt you.”
“’It’? What the hell is ‘it’?”
“The Devil,” Daisy says. Robbie glares at her.
“Why don’t we give you guys a minute,” Daisy says, swallowing hard. Jemma nods, following her out.
“What is this place?”
“S.H.I.E.L.D,” Robbie says.
“You’re working with S.H.I.E.L.D?”
You feel a little relieved.
“Right now, yes,” he nods, “I brought you here because I – I wanted to explain.”
“You’re an inhuman?”
He shakes his head. You feel your stomach tighten, “You’re all healed. You’re face turns into a skull on fire. How is that possible if you’re not inhuman?”
“The day of the accident,” he says, softly, “I was watching Gabe dying – you, dying – and I prayed, pleaded, for another way. Anything to right this wrong. And I was given a way – to become the Devil. To carry out his vengeance and my own.”
He pauses, waiting for you to digest. You were staring at him with furrowed brows.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” he says, “I don’t expect you to understand. Or to forgive me.”
“You were the one who pulled me out from under that car,” you say. He nods.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to tell you,” he says. He hesitantly places a hand over yours, “But I saw how good it was having you around. How much Gabe liked you… how much I liked you. And I was selfish – I was scared that if you knew you’d leave. And I wanted so badly for you to stay.”
You sigh, slumping against the pillows, “You saved my life.”
“I was the one who almost took it away to being with by hitting you with my car.”
You glare at him before slapping his arm repeatedly, “It wasn’t your fault, you idiot! Stop blaming yourself! None of this is your fault – why – why do you keep punishing yourself!” you yell, “You make me so mad! Why do you insist on suffering by yourself? If you’d just told me to begin with-”
Robbie catches your wrist, holding your hand in his, chuckling slightly, “I’m sorry,” he says with a crooked smile, “But please stop hitting me.”
“You have accelerated healing,” you scoff.
“But you don’t,” he says softly, “And I want last night to be the last time you ever get hurt because of me… or it. But that means you can’t get in my way – that you have to be okay with my night job.”
“The one where you assume the identity of the devil and kill people?”
“Guilty people,” he adds, hopefully.
“They’re all bad?”
He nods.
You inhale sharply, “Last night, when you kissed me, was it just so I’d fish that bullet out of you with my fingers?” you ask, grimacing at the thought.
He shakes his head.
“Then what?”
“I like you – more than like you but at this point, telling you I love you after I’ve just told you I turn into the devil might be a little much. So I’ll just say that I need you. Every fibre in my body needs you – need to know you’ll be there when I get home – so I can get through another day. I kissed you because for the first time I felt real fear when I saw how scared you were, and I just – I wanted to hold you forever and just stay like that.”
“You’re right,” you frown, “That was too much to hear.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
“But I’m glad I heard it,” you smile, “I’m not going anywhere, Robbie. I’m not leaving you.”
He sighs in relief, a grin so big covering his face that you shift uncomfortably, “I’m not used to seeing your face like that,” you laugh.
He smiles even wider, “I’ll get Jemma – make sure you’re okay to go home.”
“I’m fine,” you say, standing up.
“You’ll need bedrest. I’ve given you two concussions in the span of 4 months.”
You smirk, “Maybe we can go for a third now that everything’s out in the open,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him while he stares at you, flustered.