The air in the Upside Down is thick and damp, every breath tasting faintly like rot and ash.

Steve sits against the wall, shirtless, the angry bite marks and fresh bandages across his stomach fully exposed.

Nancy is crouched beside him, carefully cleaning the wounds along his side.

He winces every now and then, jaw tightening as she presses a cloth against the cut.

You stand a few feet away, trying not to stare.

Trying not to notice the way Nancy leans close to him. The way her voice softens when she tells him to hold still.

Maybe it means nothing.

But it still twists something unpleasant in your chest.

For a moment, Steve keeps his eyes on the ground.

Then they shift.

And they land on you.

The look only lasts a second — but it’s enough.

Something flickers there. Not confusion. Not distance.

Tension.

His shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly before he looks back toward Nancy.

“I’m fine,” he mutters. “You don’t have to hover.”

Nancy frowns.

“I’m just making sure you don’t bleed out, Steve.”

“Yeah, well…” He forces a weak half-smile. “Pretty sure that’d ruin everyone’s night.”

She hesitates.

For a moment it almost looks like she’s going to say something else.

Instead, she presses the last bandage into place and stands.

“Try not to die while I’m gone,” she mutters, brushing dirt from her hands before heading back toward the others.

When she’s gone, the space suddenly feels quieter.

Steve exhales slowly and shifts against the wall — immediately wincing at the movement.

For a moment he doesn’t look at you.

Like he’s steadying himself.

Then he does.

Really looks this time.

His eyes move over you quickly — checking for injuries, making sure you’re still in one piece. The concern is instinctive. Immediate.

Only when he seems satisfied do his shoulders ease.

He tilts his head toward the empty space beside him.

“You gonna keep standing over there,” he says quietly, voice rough from the pain, “or are you coming here?”

There’s a faint attempt at humor in his tone, but it doesn’t quite hide the edge underneath.

“Kinda figured you'd be the one checking on me.”

His fingers tap once against the ground beside him.

Then, softer—

“C’mon.”

His eyes stay on yours.

Not drifting.

Not wavering.

Waiting.