So I should apologise for being so late? I've literally had this done for ages but then I went traveling for a month and I didn't bring my laptop with me so I couldn't upload it! This is the final chapter but if anyone has any prompts at all please let me know and I'll give it a go! Don't forget to rate and review!

When Stiles Stilinski began to return to consciousness he immediately regretted it. He knew what would come next. The paranoia, the pain, the overwhelming sense of emptiness.

He wished he could just stay asleep. As he started to get more aware of his surroundings he thought he felt more pain than usual. Then his memories from the last month caught up with him.

He was on a high. Not as good as the ones he'd had before but it was better than being sober.

But then again, anything was better than being sober.

He was lying on one of the old, dirty mattresses that Deano had found.

His arm hurt. He didn't think that needle was clean enough. But he'd never cared before so why should he care now? What's the worst that could happen?

Derek would freak if he saw him like this. He should call Derek. He's been trying to call him, he's wondering where he was. As if he cares, though, he probably just wants me to look something up or something, Stiles thought. Fucking Researcher that's all he is to them.

Stiles opened his eyes slowly when he heard the rest of his friends drive into the yards, whooping, laughing and screaming. They were revving up the car, trying to let the people inside know they were here.

They wanted them to go out, and that means they've done it.

"Right, boys, we've done it!" They screamed as the men climbed down from the tree. "We've finally done it! We broke in and there it was, just sitting there in all its purple glory." That's when Stiles noticed they weren't driving Kev's car, they we're driving the Saints' truck. Stiles couldn't deny the shiver of fear at the thought of what was to come when the Saints find out that they've got their truck.

The Murdock Saints, or Saints, were a group of guys who'd lived across town since as far back as Stiles could remember. They weren't exactly a gang but people knew not to mess around when they saw the purple truck come down the street. Once you stayed out of their way, they never bothered you, they'd even been known to help people. But Stiles' friends didn't exactly like to stay out of their way. Stiles was never sure exactly what happened to start the feud between the Saints and them, but he knew it was something to do with Nick and the Saints' leader's sister. Stiles thought it best to stay out of it.

"Is that such a good idea?" Someone behind Stiles said. Wes, maybe? Stiles' sense of recognition wasn't too good when he was high, he'd noticed. "Who gives a fuck?" Someone else shouted. "It's brilliant! We have to take it for a lap of honour 'round the estates!"

Stiles scratched at the inside of his elbow, picking at the small scabs that had formed where he'd put the needles in wrong.

"But, what happens when the Saints find out that we took it?"
They'll kill us."

"We'll arm ourselves then," someone shouted, which was greeted by a laugh.

An hour later, everyone was back inside, out of the rain that had started to fall. Stiles scratched at his arm once more before he heard a car pull of upside. He froze. He heard shouting and banging outside and watching as some of the guys stood up and hopped up onto the pile of boxes and disappeared out the window. All was quiet until shouting was heard and a loud thud.

Everyone was on their feet within seconds and they hopped out the window to see what was happening outside.

As Stiles hopped from the last branch of the tree he caught sight of Nick in a heap on the ground and he didn't seem to be moving. Stiles wanted nothing more than to run over to him and make sure he was okay but the sheer number of Saints standing in front of them made him think twice.

Stiles can't remember exactly what happened next but he knows that there was a lot of shouting, a lot of swearing and next thing he knew he was on the ground getting a boot to the face. He grabbed the Saint's ankle and pulled, twisted it sharply, only stopping when he heard a crack and a cry from the man.

Stiles quickly got to his feet and ran over to where a Saint was wrestling with Deano, gave a single swift kick to his kneecap and grabbed him in a headlock for enough time to Deano get up, dust himself off and kick the Saint in the stomach. Stiles let go and Deano quickly grabbed his head and slammed it into the concrete.

People were dropping to the ground left, right and centre as he and Deano ran from one brawl to the next, helping where they could.

Soon, each small fight merged into one big one, revolving solely around the leader of the Saints and Nick. Stiles was so mesmerised by the fight that he almost didn't see the flash of silver as it was pulled from a pocket and handed quickly to the leader of the Saints. Stiles didn't think twice. He dived and tackled the Saint to the ground, pulling his wrist back until the loud crack was heard and the knife was dropped.

Stiles then stood up and kicked the man in the head, the anger in him not ceasing until long after he had stopped moving. Stiles stood over the leader of the Saints and froze as he realised what he'd done.

Every man stood staring, wondering who this small, scrawny little shit was and how had he just taken down the leader of the Murdock Saints.

Then sirens were heard. They could see the flashing lights in the distance and everyone quickly panicked and ran. Stiles didn't know what to do, he couldn't see a way out of this situation. He looked down to see the knife in his hand, when had he picked that up? He couldn't move with fear.

Then he saw Nick running at him, screaming something. Stiles couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. He just saw his lips moving, contorting with each yell.

Stiles turned just in time to see that the warehouse was engulfed in flames. One of the Saints must have set it alight. He stood watching the blaze in horror, forgetting about the unconscious man at his feet, the knife in his hand and the approaching sirens until Nick collided with him, knocking him to the ground.

Nick pulled the knife from Stiles' fist and punched him in the face.

"What are you doing?!" Stiles yelled. "I'm saving your ass!" cried Nick as he stood above the Saint with the knife in his hand, with a look in his eye that Stiles had never seen before. Then he turned around to kick Stiles in the face.

Stiles can't remember much of what happened next.

"Hello? You okay? Can you hear us? Come on, wake up..." Stiles heard voices echoing through his head. He groaned.

"There we go, come on now, almost there..." Stiles groaned once more before letting his eyes flutter open, being greeted by the sight of two paramedics standing over him.

Stiles turned his head to the side and looked at the chaos. The fire was almost put out, dozens of firemen tending to it; the Saint's leader was being taken away in a body bag, having left a large pool of blood on the ground. Stiles turned his head the other way, and caught sight of Nick being taken away in a pair of handcuffs. Stiles stared on in shock.

Stiles dragged his arm up to lightly press his fingers to his newly blackened eye and wincing. The paramedics were still talking to him, and then they grabbed his arms and helped him stand up.

Stiles stumbled a few steps towards the parked ambulance before leaning over and retching onto the ground, coughing and spluttering. A paramedic patted his back and hauled him upwards when he'd finished. They led him over to a parked ambulance where they sat him down, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and treated his injuries.

Stiles' phone began to ring in his pocket. He pulled it out and let it slip through his fingers, landing on the ground with a soft thud, one of the paramedics picked it up soon after it had rang out, and when he saw that there had been 14 missed calls from his emergency contact, the number the Pack used when they thought someone might be in trouble, he called him back and explained what happened. Stiles couldn't concentrate on what was happening around him, he just couldn't get himself to focus, when was the last time he took his Adderall?

Next thing he knew, Derek was wrapping his jacket around his shoulders and he was being led towards his car. He'd pleaded with Derek to let them drive around for a bit, not wanting to go back to his quiet house just yet.

He woke up 14 hours later.

"Stiles? You awake?" Derek whispered from his spot in the corner of the room. Stiles groaned and shushed him, before trying to roll over but wincing as the pain shot through his ribs and shoulder.

"Come on, Stiles, I know it hurts but you can't spend the day in bed."

"Yes, I can," Stiles muttered into his pillow.

"You think you can get up?" Derek said quietly.

"Can't. Hurts too much," Stiles said, voice slightly strained.

"Do you want me to get Melissa?" Derek asked, panicking slightly.

"It doesn't hurt that much," Stiles said with a scoff and another wince.

Derek sighed. Stiles scratched at the inside of his elbow, but opened his eyes to find it wrapped in a thick, white bandage.

Derek watched him. "It was infected," he said quietly, "The needles you were using weren't clean enough. Melissa spent ages filling you with every antibiotic we have. But she say's you'll be fine now." Derek wasn't looking at him.

Stiles recognised it as he was or afraid, or had been afraid, he wasn't quite sure.

"Derek, I- I'm sorry, okay? About everything, I really didn't mean it to get this far. I only went last night just to see the wreck, I had no plans on actually using, but some of the boys were there, and I don't know what came over me..." Stiles said, trying to catch Derek's eye.

Derek sighed. "I know, Stiles, I know it's not your fault, and I know you didn't mean for this to happen. I was just... scared; I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Stiles was at a loss for words.

"I'll let you get back to sleep."

Derek was gone before Stiles had the chance to say anything else.

Stiles sat in Derek's chair, leg fidgeting and biting his nails. "My ribs hurt!" he called to no one in particular.

"I'd expect so; it's only been a week!" Lydia called back.

"You're not being very helpful," Stiles said, matter-of-factly.

"There's nothing more I can do for you, Stiles, we've patched you up, you're just going to have to deal it," Lydia sighed.

"But I'm starving," Stiles whined.

"No, you're not," Scott stated. "You're just going through withdrawal. That's why you're so restless, and that's why you're so fucking annoying."

"Rude," Stiles muttered.

"That's what I'm here for," Scott muttered back.

"Can't I, like, do something?" Stiles asked, scratching at a scab on his hand.

Isaac turned to him. "Like what, Stiles? What do you want to do?"

Stiles stopped. "Well, I don't know..."

Isaac sighed. "Exactly, you don't know. Now shut up while I try and get this work done."

Stiles made a face and went back to biting his finger nails. He winced as one started to bleed.

"I told you to stop biting it, you fucking idiot," Scott muttered, two minutes later as he was placing a band aid around Stiles' finger.

Stiles used his good arm to punch Scott in the ribs.

"I can't do this!" Stiles shouted, kicking over Derek's chair.

Derek stood behind Stiles, lunch in hand.

"Stiles, it's been a month and a half, I know this withdrawal is killing you, but you're so close, we're all here for you," Derek said, placing a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Oh, fuck off, Derek," Stiles muttered, storming out.

"Scott, lock the doors, he's doing a runner again," Derek muttered, knowing Scott would hear him.

Derek watched as Stiles made it to the door and found it locked. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" he screamed, making everyone in the loft jump.

Stiles then turned on his heel and made his way to the roof.

He didn't return for four hours.

"Stiles, buddy, you've gotta stay awake, I know it's a symptom of your withdrawal but you can beat this, I know you can," Derek said, looking at Stiles in the rear-view mirror, whose head had been drooping for the past ten minutes.

Stiles mumbled something incoherent and let his head fall against the window of the car. Scott pinched Stiles' leg. "C'mon, Stiles, stay awake, don't give in to it."

Without opening his eyes Stiles reached over and gave Scott a dead arm.

"Harsh," Scott muttered, rubbing his arm.

"Stiles, you can't keep doing that, we're just trying to help you," Derek said, as if scolding a child.

However something told Derek that he didn't care as his head dropped to Lydia's shoulder, murmuring incoherently.

"Well, it's been over a month since you've shown any signs of withdrawal..." Melissa said. "I think you're over the worst of it," she said, snapping off her medical gloves. Both Derek and Stiles sighed in relief.

Stiles put his head in his hands and Derek watched as his shoulders shuddered. Derek tentatively placed his arms around Stiles and held him to his chest.

"I can't believe it," Stiles said into Derek's shoulder. "It's finally over."

"Stiles, its' okay, buddy, you're fine. We're here, it's over," Derek whispered into his ear. "Its' okay, Stiles, you're okay."