"What do you want?" John asked through the door.
"We're sorry, okay?" Dean said louder but he still sounded as if Sam was stage-whispering his lines to him. "Mark seems to be a nice guy. You know, for a werewolf. I probably shouldn't have shot him but it looked as if he was attacking Sammy."
There was a pause which was John's cue to say something. If he had a clue what to say.
"What are we going to do now?" Mark asked in a low voice. He was leaning heavily against the door frame behind John. His glowing eyes made his skin look even paler and the claws digging into the wood didn't look frightening either. Even with the support of the frame, it looked as if he was about to keel over any second now. John gave him points for effort but he doubted that Mark would be any help if the Winchesters did try something. Like shooting through the door.
Of course, Stiles was peeking around the corner as well but he was smart enough to stay mostly behind the werewolf.
John shook his head to indicate that he had no idea either.
"Why am I talking to a fucking door?" Dean muttered. "John? C'mon, man. This is stupid."
"Leave your weapons in the car," Stiles yelled. "Then you can come in."
"I'm not going to face a werewolf naked," Dean yelled back but a second later Sam agreed to the condition. John heard them exchange hushed words but it sounded as if they were walking away.
"You're not going to let them in, are you?" Mark asked, a panicked look in his eyes.
"You have a better idea?" John was more than open to suggestions but Mark didn't have a solution either.
John exchanged a glance with Stiles who gestured for him to peek out of the window next to the door.
"If I get shot in the face I'll blame you," John grumbled but did take a look. The Winchesters were at their car now. They had parked at the curb because the driveway was more than full with John's cruiser, the jeep, and Mark's car that had been parked in a haste. The driver's door was still open and something dark was smeared on the hood. It was vaguely hand-shaped.
"What are they doing?" Stiles asked and John could feel him itching to have a look himself but for now, he stayed behind Mark.
"They're at the trunk," John answered. He didn't have a clear view on what they were doing but it looked as if Dean was pulling an arsenal from wherever on his body. Somehow John doubted that he was putting all his concealed weapons away but he would take it.
"They're coming back." John stepped back from the door. "Maybe you should put those away as well." He pointed at the claws still digging into the frame of the door. Mark had to look down to remember them and he retracted them with an almost sheepish look.
"Last chance," John said. "You can still hide upstairs. Or make a run for it through the back door."
"I'm not going to leave you alone with them," Mark said with a flash of his eyes. It did look more like the last blip of a dying light but John didn't call him out on it.
"We're unarmed," Sam said through the door. "Can we come in now?"
"I think the neighbors are watching by now," Dean added.
John opened the door.
"Thanks, man." Dean gave him a winning smile but then his eyes zoomed in on Mark. "You look like shit."
"Wasn't that the point when you shot me?" Mark bit back and didn't hide the growl in his voice.
"Down, Cujo." Dean raised his hands to show that he was indeed unarmed. He didn't have a weapon visible, John had to give him that, but that didn't make him less dangerous.
"As I said, we're sorry." Sam stepped up behind his brother and closed the door, cutting off their escape route. John trusted that gesture more than Dean's. "Can we talk?"
There wasn't enough room for this many people in the kitchen so they took this over to the living room.
"What happened to you?" Dean asked when Stiles sat down next to Mark on the couch. Stiles was trying to hide the pain but he was favoring one side and when he sat down, he had to stabilize his ribs with his hand.
"None of your business," Stiles snapped at him but since he was busted now anyway, he didn't hold back the groans of pain any longer.
"What do you want?" Mark asked. He straightened up and John could tell that he'd slipped into deputy mood. He still looked like death warmed over but with authority now.
"Sam was worried that I killed you." Dean didn't look particularly intimidated by Mark. "You're not going to die any time soon, are you?" Dean gave him a calculating up and down.
"I got the bullet out and treated the wound," John answered for him. He didn't know if the Winchesters knew about the antidote so he left it at: "He's going to be fine."
"That's good." Sam nodded, looking all sincere.
"You're just worried that you started a war," Stiles chimed in. "You have no idea who in this town is pack and who's not. But they know about you. Your focus was on Derek so they left you alone. But if you killed one of them …"
"We're trying to help," Sam said and John got that for some reason it was important to him to save as many people as he could. Which was kind of funny because at first glance Dean was the one with the hero complex.
"We don't mean to …," Sam continued but Stiles interrupted him.
"Yeah, you don't mean to but guess what? You do." Stiles' voice rose with every word. "Before you came here, everything was fine. We kept to our respective sides and didn't bother each other. Nobody got fucking shot and nobody tried to meddle with my life. Then you came along and now look at us." He gestured between himself and Mark sitting next to him. As if to prove his point Stiles sucked in a sharp breath with that gesture and hurried to tuck his arm back into his side.
"It started when your buddy drowned four people," Dean reminded him. "And he almost drowned that girl the other day."
"That was Derek," Mark said. So far he'd stayed quiet, most likely in hope that the hunters forgot about him, but now his jaw was working and it weren't just the muscles moving under the skin.
"When you came here, you didn't even know about us," he said. "We didn't give you any reason to hunt us down." His eyes flashed with his last words and compared to earlier the electric blue was brighter, more alive. It wasn't really visible on the outside, Mark might be playing it down, but John felt way more confident with him as backup now than just minutes ago.
"I didn't hunt you down," Dean dismissed him. "You came to us. C'mon, what did you expect me to do? I come home and find you at our doorstep, completely wolfed out, and about to attack Sammy. Of course, I shoot first and ask questions later."
"You and your brother tried to lure me into a trap," Mark growled. "You tried to kill me."
John had a split second to realize that Mark's control was slipping but it was not enough time to do anything.
With a growl, Mark lunged at Dean. His clawed hand closed around Dean's throat but at the same time, the muzzle of Dean's gun made contact with Mark's ridged forehead. Everything froze.
Dean calmly looked up at the werewolf looming over him. His eyes were not glowing but the look in them was more terrifying than Mark's.
"Back off," Dean said in a low voice. His Adam's apple moved under Mark's palm. John remembered way too well how that felt. At least Mark wasn't pinning Dean to the wall like Agnes had done with him the other day but John could almost feel the prick of claws on his throat.
"Nobody has to get hurt." Sam tried to deescalate the situation.
"I did get hurt." Mark leaned into the muzzle, pressing it more firmly into his forehead. "Do it! Kill the monster! That's why you're here, right? You just want to kill something. You don't care about the rest."
"We do care," Sam tried again. "You're not a monster. Dean is not going to shoot you. But you have to back off."
Sam would make a good negotiator, John had to give him that. However, he wasn't sure if Mark was even there enough to comprehend what he was saying. Last time he'd seen his partner like this John had to hit him over the head with a branch.
"Mark," John said nevertheless. He saw the struggle on Mark's face but then, ever so slowly, he uncramped his hand. His claws were still way too close to Dean's throat, he still could slash through the vulnerable flesh in the blink of an eye, but Dean took it as the peace offering it was and eased off as well. He didn't put the safety back on but the gun was no longer pointed directly at Mark. John did not doubt that he still could shoot Mark just as quickly.
Dean and Mark looked at each other for another long second and then, as if they had come to a silent agreement, they backed off completely. Reluctantly Mark sat down next to Stiles again while Dean put the gun back to wherever he'd drawn it from.
"So much for no weapons," John muttered. Damn, he needed a drink. He deserved the whole bottle for what he was dealing with here.
"I needed it." Dean shrugged and carefully probed his throat. The claws hadn't broken the skin but they had left angry red marks. "He tried to kill me."
"Okay, all right, now," Stiles spoke up before they could spiral right back into it. "Come on, no one died, alright? Look, there may have been some maiming, okay? A little mangling, but no death! That's what I call an important distinction."
John glared at him.
"What now?" Sam asked the important question. He kept glancing at Dean who waved him off. John didn't want to know what would have happened if Mark had ripped out Dean's throat. He believed Sam when he'd said that he was unarmed but just like with his brother it didn't make him less dangerous.
"You should leave," John said. Suddenly he was just tired. "Get in your car and drive. To Ohio or whatever, I don't care. Just get the hell out of Beacon Hills." How often had he told them that? Why was he even trying? Maybe he should just sit back and let Agnes take care of these two idiots.
"We can't just …," Sam started but got interrupted by Dean.
"We can," Dean said firmly. "John's keeping an eye on Derek and the pack. There's nothing for us to do here. We'll keep an eye on the town. If things go south we came back but I doubt that we have to." He turned to John for the last part. "Right, Deputy?"
"Beacon Hills is a quiet town," John confirmed. "Things will get back to normal once you're gone."
"But Stiles …" Sam was not ready to just leave it.
"There's no but Stiles," Stiles said. John expected another outburst but Stiles just sounded tired. He was sitting hunched over, hand still firmly on his ribs, it didn't look as if the painkillers were helping much with the pain. He most likely would feel better once the hunters and werewolves were gone and he could stretch out on the couch, though.
"You can't save me," Stiles said to Sam but he was addressing Mark as well. "I don't need to be saved and I don't want you poking around the lake. I'm happy with Derek. We just want to be left alone."
John didn't know what cues Sam picked up from him but the way Mark tilted his head, he was listening to more than just his words.
"Okay." Sam gave in. "We'll leave. But if you ever need our help …"
"I have your number, I'll give you a call," John promised.