Billy Hargrove Imagines

Win or Lose

Summary: You find Billy injured because of his dad, and decided to convince your parents to let him live with you.

Warnings: depictions of injuries, implied child abuse

Word Count: 1,872

A/N: In case you guys couldn't tell, I love me man's shoulder blades

"Hey, mom, dad... do you think we can talk?" You weren't sure how else to start this conversation. Hell, you weren't sure if this conversation should even be started to begin with. Your parents were busying themselves in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, and you silently watched them, trying to figure out just how to approach this situation.

"Of course, pumpkin. What's up?" your father spoke, pausing from wrapping up the leftover hamburger meat. Your mom paused as well, setting the plate she held in her hand, back into the soapy water in the sink.

"It's about Billy-"

"Oh, is he alright?" your mom asked immediately, turning to face you.

"No, no he's not. He hasn't been for a while..."

You shouldn't be here. You knew you shouldn't be here. But when Billy hadn't shown up for an hour for your date, you knew something was wrong. Billy was a lot of things, but late had never been one of them. He made a point of driving that damn car of his everywhere, and because of that, punctuality was his forte.

You sat in your car for a minute, tugging at your bottom lip with your fingers. The Hargrove-Mayfield house was deadly quiet, something that you weren't used to. Whenever you'd come over, you'd be met with the heavy beat of Billy's music or the blare of Mr.Hargove's television. But now, you could see through the front window, and the t.v. was shut off, the only light coming from the vacant kitchen.

"Oh, I'm gonna regret this," you mumbled to yourself. You quietly shut your car door, and made your way around the house, ducking under Max's window. Once you got to Billy's room, you were relieved to see his curtains pulled to the side, and his window wide open, the smell of cigarette-smoke instantly welcoming you. Peering inside, you saw Billy hunched over on his bed, his back facing you, his hands gripping his blond curls.

"Hey, Hargrove," you whispered, startling him from whatever daze he had been in. Billy's head whipped around, the cigarette nearly falling from between his fingers. His blue eyes were blown wide, and his face was a concoction of emotions. His lip was split, his eyebrow had a cut that was steadily dripping blood onto the hood of his eye (which was beginning to bruise), and his cheekbone had a swelling gash. Your own eyes widened, but you managed to keep in a horrified gasp.

"(Y-Y/N), you shouldn't be here! You need to go home!" Billy spoke quickly, getting up and rushing over to the window. He put the cigarette out in the ashtray that was settled on the windowsill, moving it over to the side so he could peek his head out.

"No! What happened? Why'd he do this?" You'd known for a few months that Neil was abusive, but Billy hardly spoke about it. Whenever an incident would occur, he'd close himself off for a few days before clinging to you. It was a pattern you'd come to accept with your boyfriend.

"It's not important. Please go home," Billy all-but cried, his hand reaching out to hold your face. He held a pleading look in his eyes, one you were going to ignore.

"Move, Billy, I'm coming in."

"(Y/F/N), go home!" You were already hiking yourself over the windowsill, gripping onto his shoulders for support. Billy held back a wince of pain and helped you inside, desperately looking over his shoulder to make sure his dad wasn't about to come inside.