[ It's exactly that quality, that of the long experience dealing with stressed out teenagers, which has kept Peter in place. He could have tried harder to scuttle around the kitchen and get out. He could have snapped and snarled. That's never really been his way, though. If the familiar quality Chris has pushes things in the opposite direction, well, it's not enough, it only makes things unsettling — and the longer Peter thinks he'll come out of this okay, this can be downgraded to interesting. He huffs another incredulous laugh which trails away into pained noises, kept faint and locked down with the set of his jaw, as soon as Chris starts gearing up to get into the wound and remove whatever's lodged in there.

Keeps him awake, at least, which he ultimately wants because this is all too weird, too interesting. One for the memoirs, should he ever write any. Not the easiest thing to try to focus through while answering, sure. ]

I was — underground? Stuff on shelves. Some of it was mine.

[ A note of hey... MY stuff enters his voice and is chased away immediately by whatever Chris is doing. He's trying not to watch, though not out of squeamishness. It's just distracting and he would be trying to backseat surgery, which nobody likes. ]

Not sure how I got there. Then, hunters... I guess.

[ Not ones he recognized and they were using different gear than he's used to. ]

Other werewolves. Don't know them.

[ Another annoying point. He's very nosy and he should know most werewolves in Beacon Hills. Though he's not sure they are in Beacon Hills. ]