Stranger Things - Imagines

Eddie Munson X Reader - Get Home

A/N - This chapter was inspired (sort of) by the song Get Home by Bastille. I hope you all enjoy it.

Trigger Warning: This contains mentions of stalking and murder (but doesn't have any actual violence in it.) If this is likely to affect you negatively, please skip this one. 

Sometimes, you didn't understand how you could be so damn stupid. When you had taken on the extra closing shift, you clearly hadn't thought about the fact that you closed way after dark. Nor had you considered that with your parents away visiting friends in a completely different state, you would have to find your own way home. And of course, none of that had clicked until after your coworker had locked up and driven away. So now, here you were standing on your own, well aware that you were about to have to do the 30-minute walk home alone in the dark. 

After a couple of moments of hesitation, you shouldered your backpack, letting out a soft sigh. There was no point in standing around; it wasn't like a car was going to magically appear and take you home. So, off you went, walking as quickly as you could manage without breaking a sweat. 

You'd only been walking for a minute or two when a car cruised past, driving far slower than was normal on Main Street. You glanced up as it went past, only to find the driver already staring at you. There was something about his eyes that made your stomach churn, a shiver running up your spine. It left you feeling gross, but you quickly picked up the pace, attempting to ignore the interaction. 

But then, barely a block later, the car went past again, the same man staring out at you as he drove, and you felt sick. No one who knew anything about Hawkins would ever end up driving loops on Main Street. It just wasn't necessary. Everyone took the back roads. Everyone knew how to get everywhere without even needing to check the map. There wasn't a single route that would ever take you down this road twice. 

You really were trying to ignore it. You tried to calm your racing heart. But then, as you rounded the corner, you saw the car again, parked right at the side of the road about half a block away. There wasn't a single part of you that thought walking past it would be a good idea. Not a single part of you thought that ignoring it would work this time. Sure, it could be harmless, but then again, it could not be. 

You'd heard horror stories time and time again about girls being kidnapped and murdered whilst they were out alone at night. There'd been that guy out in California a couple of months back who'd killed 14 people. 14. And in the 70s there'd been tons of serial killers all over the country. Shit, you didn't want to end up with your face plastered over the front of a newspaper when they found you dead in some random back-road somewhere.

You gripped the straps of your bag tighter, swinging it off your shoulders and rifling through in search of your notebook. Eddie had made you a little scribbled index there when you'd first started working, claiming it was his duty as best friend and protector. It had been a collection of phone numbers that, he claimed, every adult would eventually need. 

Emergency Services: 911. 

Home Phone: 317-555-0170. 

Pizza: 317-555-9190

The Hideout: 317-555-0278

Eddie/Wayne: 317-555-0947

He'd told you quite firmly that there would never be another number you would need and at that point, you'd laughed it off. When would you ever need to call him when he was always so busy calling you? But now, you were thankful for his slightly overprotective nature. 

You scurried over to the closest phone booth, shoving in the coins with shaking hands and punching in his number. It rang for a moment, and your stomach clenched as you considered what you would do if he didn't answer. Did you call the police or was that an overreaction? What if it was just some guy and they all thought you were crazy for being so worried?