For about half a second, Chrissy feels her cheeks begin to heat, confused as to why he would be lifting up his shirt. The reason becomes clear quickly enough, though, when she sees the healing and bandaged wounds marking his chest. "Oh my god," she breathes, her eyes going wide with something like horror. She still can't understand most of what he's telling her — another version of Hawkins, bat things — but those marks speak for themselves. "Are you —"

She winces as she lifts her head to look up at him again. It's a stupid question. Nothing about any of what happened is remotely okay. She changes her approach instead, her worries about the creepy envelope temporarily forgotten. "Is it bad?"

He seemed alright when they were coming back here, at least, but she wasn't exactly paying attention to how he was walking at the time. Distracted as she's been, she hopes she didn't miss anything significant.