duodécima luna. [a stiles fanfic]

nueve.

hey. can you pls meet me at carlos's shop?

She messaged back a 'yeah, sure' and ran a hand through her hair, knowing the mechanic wasn't in because he was with Luis at the hospital. Knowing just how much the teenager relied on his Jeep, she called Carlos and pulled in a quick favour and he acquiesced to open it up and meet her there.

In the mean time, she thought about everything Deaton had found and explained with his medical knowledge. He had told her about the punctured lungs and ribcages that were cut through with ease. He had shown her the precise cut at the back of the neck. It was as much evidence as anyone could ask for.

But one can never be sure until their eyes confirm.

Now, the veterinarian was groaning, waking up. She knew that he would wake up and forget about that part that had transpired since that's what she had intended. He'd only remember what she wanted him to. Still, Violeta was quick to leave the animal clinic and make her way to the shop. On her walk there, she thought about it.

About it all.

One can never be sure until their eyes confirm.

That was a rule that her grandmother had told her. That was one amongst the many she had taught her. Another was that the first and foremost priority was to protect, then to heal if we failed. And it was always our failure if someone was hurt because keeping order and balance was our duty. We prevent the witches from abusing the powers we gave them. We stop the vampires from killing too much and keep them in check. We help the werewolves through their changes and help them find and live in their packs. We maintain order and to do so requires rank and power over others.

However, there must be balance. There must always be balance. So the oldest, highest, strongest, most knowledgeable of all the species must be tethered to the youngest, weakest, most ignorant of all the species: humans. It was something that had been decided long ago by the Wise Ones who had decreed it and prepared each soul to follow their command.

She arrived at Carlos' shop to see the young boy pacing back and forth. Evident from the frantic hand gestures and the way his mouth was moving and that there was no one around him, he was talking to himself. Hoping to spare him embarrassment, she pulled out her phone and pretended to be busy with it as she dragged her feet so that he would hear her coming and right himself.

From her peripheral vision, she saw him do just that. She smiled down at her phone, looking at nothing but her lock screen picture of Tupac Shakur.

"Vio! Hey! Thanks for—"

"— the FUCK did you just call her?!"

Stiles paled as Carlos walked up, cleaning a wrench on the dirty towel thrown over his shoulder. "I, uh, I was just-uh, she- her- I, uh—" Violeta sighed and shook her head but Carlos was not having it.

"No! Esé here has no right. No one does. Even abuela stopped calling you that!"

Stiles, bless his heart, tried but only made it worse when he stammered out a "I, uh don't get it like, is it like, uh, Voldemort or something?"

Carlos swiftly reached behind him and pulled out a gun and aimed it square at Stiles' face. Acting on pure instinct, Violeta darted in front of the boy and wrapped her hands behind, around him. She spat out some quick, harsh Spanish that Stiles could not understand. He saw the shock that ran through the older, muscular man who immediately lowered the gun. He replied in a simple sentence that Stiles' Spanish skills was able to translate.

Your parents called you that.

Stiles thought back to Boyd who he knew lived around these parts. He knew a lot about Violeta and the Latin gangs that ran around in night. If calling Violeta 'Vio' was taboo, Boyd would know. Hence why the teen had said that he, Stiles, couldn't call her that. But Violeta had shook her head, had dismissed it. Just as she had tried to do with Carlos before he pulled out a gun on him.