"There is nothing you can do for Stiles!" Stiles yelled at him. "There is nothing Stiles wants you to do for him. Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?" Stiles expressed his outrage with his whole body but then he snapped his arms back in with a hiss. His forehead almost hit the table when he doubled over in pain, hand pressed to his ribs.

"Stiles." John was at his side in a heartbeat and held him through the pain. "Easy. Shallow breaths."

John didn't dare to stroke his back so he kept his hand on Stiles' neck, a gentle reminder that he was there. Over Stiles' bowed head he glared at Mark for causing the pain in the first place. At first, John had thought that Stiles was exaggerating but it looked as if he did have a cracked rib or two.

"I'm sorry," Mark said meekly, his hand itching over to where Stiles was clinging to John's arm with one hand while he kept the other one firmly pressed to his flank.

"Don't you dare and touch me." Stiles had noticed as well and he glared daggers at Mark through watery eyes.

"I can help."

"How often do I have to repeat myself?" Slowly Stiles let go of John and straightened up. It caused him pain, that much was obvious, but he set his jaw and fixed Mark with a cold look. "I. Don't. Need. Your. Help!"

John kept his hand on Stiles' shoulder and faced the werewolf with him. Mark still looked like death warmed over, John doubted that he was even able to do the pain drain magic at the moment, but Stiles had made it very clear right from the beginning that he didn't want anything to do with werewolves and for sure he didn't want Mark's help.

It was against Mark's nature to back off and leave Stiles alone, John got that, but Mark needed to understand that not everybody was a werewolf.

John helped Stiles to find a position he could bear before he dared to leave his side to get him some painkillers. Stiles would be fine once he was with Derek again, he kept reminding John of that fact, but Derek wouldn't come to pick him up anytime soon. Stiles had wanted to make the most out of his driving lesson so he'd left the lake as late as possible. John could drive him out to the lake but he didn't want to leave Mark alone.

The werewolf looked better by the minute but after Stiles' outburst he'd shrunken in to himself and he looked nauseous. And still too pale. John hoped that he could just sleep off the aftereffects of the poison but for now Mark looked weak as a kitten. Or a puppy.

While he got the painkillers for Stiles, John got a fresh washcloth and a towel for Mark to freshen up as well and for good measure, he threw in a t-shirt. Mark's shirt was ruined.

"I'm surprised you didn't kill each other," John said when he came back into the kitchen. Both sat slumped over in their chairs, looking miserable. Neither dignified his comment with an answer.

"Can you clean up yourself?" John handed the washcloth to Mark. "A shower would be better but I doubt you can even get to the bathroom without collapsing."

Mark just gave him a nod and started to half-heartedly clean his arm.

With that taken care of, John turned to Stiles and put two pills in his hand.

Once his two patients were taken care of, John sat down.

"Okay, let's try this again," John said. "How did teaming up with Sam to free Stiles ended with this?" He gestured at Mark. "And what the fuck were you thinking teaming up with the Winchesters in the first place? They're itching to shoot something."

"I noticed." Mark huffed out a laugh which ended in a weak cough. "I was stupid."

"Was?" Stiles raised an eyebrow at him.

Mark didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he told them what had happened.

Mark had been to the Winchesters' motel. Sam had opened the door but when Mark had tried to enter the room, he'd run into an invisible wall.

"Dunno who was more surprised, me or him." Mark shook his head. "No clue what he'd done to the door but I couldn't get over the threshold."

"Mountain ash?" John guessed. Werewolves could not cross it, at least according to Dean. John had wanted to look into it but hadn't come around to that. Looked as if it did work.

"Most likely," Mark confirmed. "Anyway, I could see the moment when Sam realized that I'm not human."

"He shot you for that?" Stiles burst out. More on principle alone, John doubted that he suddenly felt sorry for Mark.

"I thought he might attack me but he didn't."

"But you did," Stiles concluded.

"I couldn't even get to him. Not that I wanted to," Mark dismissed him but then he added: "But I was ready to defend myself."

"You panicked and lost control," Stiles corrected. "Instead of running or dunno, maybe talking to him, you wolfed out."

"It wasn't like that." Mark avoided his eyes and John got the feeling that Stiles was on point with his conclusion. When it came to his job, Mark always kept his cool but when things got personal, when his pack was involved, Mark's more animalistic side took over.

"Dean came up behind me," Mark said. "Not sure if it was set up as a trap from the beginning or if he just happened to be around. When he saw me, he shot me. No warning, nothing, he just came up behind me and shot me. That's when I ran." He paused to catch his breath. By now some color had returned to his face but he was shivering and his face had a sheen to it that did not look healthy.

"Don't know if they followed me, didn't want to risk leading them to the rest of the pack."

"So you came here," John finished for him.

"I didn't know where else to go," Mark admitted meekly. "I'm sorry … I didn't mean to …" He gestured at Stiles who was still holding his side.

"You never mean to," Stiles muttered but there was no heat behind his words. He just sounded tired.

Mark ducked his head and for a long moment, nobody spoke. They both looked miserable and John wondered if he should offer the guest room to Stiles and the couch to Mark. Looked like they both would stay a while. He didn't know how long it would take for Mark to recover from the wolfsbane but Stiles had at least a few hours until Derek would come to get him, he might be more comfortable in a bed. Same for Mark. Anything was more comfortable than the kitchen chairs.

While John's mind was still stuck on the logistics of taking care of his patients, Stiles was already analyzing what Mark had told them.

"Might have been a trap," he mused. "Or Dean just happened to stumble over your wolfed-out ass and figured that you were threatening his brother. He does have this protective big brother vibe."

"You think it was an accident?" John asked. "They don't seem like the kind of people who accidentally shoot somebody."

"What do I know? I wasn't there." Stiles shrugged and turned to Mark. "But if they followed you, they didn't stick around. I walked down the street, pretty sure I would have noticed them staking out this place. Besides, if it were a trap it would make more sense to capture you and interrogate you than let you run in hope that you'll lead them to the rest of the pack."

"Dean knows his way around weapons," John had to admit that Stiles was right. "He would have shot you in the leg if capturing you had been the plan. Besides, they didn't have a reason to suspect that you're a werewolf."

"Are you defending those hunters now?" Mark growled deep in his throat and his eyes flashed blue for a second.

"Exactly my point." Stiles looked more satisfied than he had a right to be. "The werewolf with control issues meets the trigger-happy hunter." He grinned at Mark.

It was a bit harsh but it did sound more plausible than the trap idea. For that Mark had escaped way too easily.

"I could ask them," John mused. "I would like to have a word with them for shooting my partner anyway."

"You think we're still in the talking phase?" Stiles asked. Carefully he leaned back in his chair in search of a more comfortable position. "They just started a war. You think that Agnes is just going to sit back? She was more than patient with the Winchesters but they almost killed a member of her pack."

"He's right," Mark spoke up. Stiles glared at him for siding with him.

This was kind of amusing. For a weird second, John was tempted to make that popcorn still sitting on the counter and to just watch Stiles and Mark jabbing at each other but he sobered up quickly.

"What is she going to do?" John asked as if he didn't know the answer already. Agnes was the left hand of the pack and even if his research hadn't turned up murder he was able to read between the lines. Stiles' remark that she had a higher body count than Derek came to mind.

"Nothing you can prove," Mark confirmed darkly.

"I'm usually not somebody to agree with werewolves but I'm with her on this." Stiles' expression turned murderous.

"A second ago you were more than happy that Mark almost died." John threw up his hands and didn't even try to follow Stiles' mood swings.

"Believe me, I couldn't care less if they wiped out the whole pack," Stiles said and John didn't need to be a werewolf to know that he was dead serious. "But if Sam is set on helping me he will confront Derek rather sooner than later and we all know how that is going to end. I'm not going to put his death on Derek."

John narrowed his eyes on him but he didn't dare to ask if worst came to worst Stiles would take matters into his own hands to spare Derek from killing Sam. He didn't have to ask, though, the answer was all over Stiles. In his words, his posture, in the hard set of his eyes. For once his age showed in those eyes.

And who was he fooling? Stiles could murder somebody in broad daylight without facing any consequences. John could arrest him, sure, but Stiles had proven before that a prison cell couldn't hold him.

"Am I the only one who's not thinking of murder?" John sighed.

Before somebody could answer his question the doorbell rang.

"What now?" John groaned.

"Don't look at me." Mark raised his hands in defeat. "My ears are still ringing, I didn't even hear somebody coming up to the house."

John's money was on Agnes. She most likely wanted to check on Mark and if she was planning to deal with the Winchesters later today she wouldn't care if they spotted her. She might even find it convenient. John just hoped that she wouldn't kill them right on his doorstep.

He did not expect to see the Winchesters when he opened the door.

John slammed the door shut right in their faces and then he stood there, wondering if he was hallucinating.

"John?" Dean asked through the door. "Please open the door."

"So you can finish the job?" John asked. He should get his gun. How fit was Mark? He could use some werewolf backup here. Or should he tell Mark to run while the Winchesters were here at the front door? Were both Winchesters still here? Was one of them circling the house to the back door?

"That's not …," Sam started, at least he was still here, but John cut him off.

"You shot my partner."

"I hope I didn't kill him?" Dean sounded uncertain and John could picture him looking at his brother to confirm that this was the right thing to say.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn, he needed a drink.

A/N NaNoWriMo starts on Monday. There won't be an update next weekend and I'll keep it at a big maybe for the rest of the month.

However, I intend to come out of NaNo with "Let it Flow" finished, maybe "Hitting Rock Bottom" as well. And I want to start a new story: "Am I the real me? Or is that you?"

If you can guess what that story is, you'll get a cookie.