There was something about Peter checking on him that was more disconcerting than if the wolf flat out admitted he was here to kill him. It was... kind which was something Chris didn't expect from Peter. Ever.

He laid his hand on the gun and moved it away from the basket, somewhat annoyed at the sight of the overside ridiculous bundle of fruits. There were things he actually liked in there like grapefruit and pears. He had those in his kitchen right now. They weren't quite the size of these ones but still. Had Peter noticed that the last time he was over? Was this deliberate?

"I'm fine," he said stubbornly. "Melissa said it's only bruised ribs and minor sprains."

Along with numerous cuts, scrapes and more bruises. He really was too old to get thrown around by the supernatural but what else was he to do? Hunting was all he knew, all that gave him purpose. He wasn't going to give it up.