Series Rewrite (A Teen Wolf Fanfiction)

Frayed Part 2

Find out why Ethan keeps checking his phone.

Danny's phone chimed a second later after Stiles sent the message. Danny looked back, and Stiles grinned, holding up his phone and pointing at Danny with the other hand. Danny mouthed 'no', and Stiles frowned as if he hadn't expected that answer. I giggled quietly.

Danny turned back around, so Stiles huffed and sent another frustrated text.

Just do it!

No.

ASK HIM.

Danny turned around again, looking exasperated, and Stiles shrugged at him like 'what the heck, dude!'. Danny texted again, facing the front.

NO. I like this guy. What's wrong with you?

Danny looked over to a curious Ethan with a small smile.

It's important. PLEASE.

Danny shook his head at his phone and shoved back in his pocket, making Stiles shrug with frustration. Stiles started sending rapid fire messages, causing Danny's phone to chime over and over again as Stiles electronically yelled at him. Danny and Ethan looked at each other awkwardly and Danny looked out the window. Stiles sighed and kept going, his fingers moving like lightning over the tiny keypad. Ethan stared at Danny, and Danny looked like he wanted to explain but literally didn't know how.

Ethan said, "Something wrong?"

"Actually, I was...wondering the same thing about you," Danny replied, giving in. I put a hand on Stiles' phone to make him stop texting, and all three of us perched up in our seats, waiting to hear Ethan's answer. Instead of answering, Ethan shot us a glare over his shoulder, knowing we had something to do with it.

All three of us cowered in our seats, like that would keep Ethan from knowing it was us.

"Well, that wasn't very subtle," Stiles sighed with me practically in his lap. We slowly leaned back up when Ethan looked away.

Maybe Ethan didn't realize we had something to do with it because Danny texted a moment later.

Someone close to him is sick. Might not make it through the night.

"Ennis?" Scott asked. I knew it couldn't have been Aiden because Aiden barely even got a scratch.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"He's not dead," Scott replied, still staring at the phone from over the seat.

"Not yet," Stiles said.

It felt like the bus hadn't moved in an hour and the sounds of frustrated drivers honking their horns uselessly filled the air. Scott had turned back around, and no one was sitting next to me and Stiles, so we were as close to private as we could get on a bus. And I used the time to press my lips to his easily.

The moment was ruined by Coach telling Jared not to puke on the bus.

"I'm an empathetic vomiter. You throw up, I'm gunna throw up right back on you. And it will be profoundly disgusting," Coach warned. I sighed, pulling my lips from Stiles, who grumbled.

"Please don't talk about throwing up," Jared begged, his voice tight like he was already trying to hold it down.

"I might throw up on you just to make a point, Jared." Jared shook his head slowly, a quiet plea for Coach to refrain. "Now the rest of you, don't think we're gunna miss this meet because of a slight traffic jam, a minor tornado warning, and Jared," Coach listed. I squinted out the window at the 'minor' tornado warning.