Displaced, a strange days at blake holsey high fanfic

Title: Displaced

Rating: G (with a very tiny bit of not so nice language)

Summery: Victor Pearson has a heart attack. And that's pretty much it.

Spoilers: Very mild "Transference" references.

Disclaimer: Jim Rapsas and I'm sure lots of other people who aren't me own Strange Days at Blake Holsey High and its characters.

AN: Whew. I started this one a long time ago (right after watching "Transference" for the first time, and, incidentally, this takes place somewhere around that time, and, as such, doesn't fit with the rest of the season), in fact before my own father had a heart attack. Maybe that's what inspired me to finish this little fic, maybe it was hearing the fabulous news of three new episodes coming soon, but this is my first (nearly) completed Strange Days story, and hopefully won't be my last. There'll be one more part to this, which I'll hopefully have all set by the end of the week.

Vaughn brushed past Josie tensely, easing in to a seat towards the back of the classroom several rows behind where she and Corrine sat. Josie bristled as he passed, and she struggled not to glance back him. She tuned out the innocuous chatter of Corrine and Marshall as her mind drifted back to Vaughn, pondering the kiss she could barely remember and the disappearance of her floating Qui Gong Ball, and barely acknowledged Lucas's harried "Morning," as he rushed to sit before the bell rang. Professor Zachary's voice disrupted her swarm of thoughts and brought her back to the moment, prompting her to pull out her pen and focus on the day before her.

"I have some good news for you all," Professor Z announced cheerily.

"Was the copy machine broken?" Marshall asked hopefully, sitting up a little straighter at the laughter from the class in response.

Professor Z narrowed his eyes and smiled unapologetically. "Oh, the copy machine is definitely not broken! In fact, I managed to print your tests double sided!" he declared triumphantly, knowing full well this news what not good so much for them as for his own amusement. "Which means that it's only six pages instead of twelve!"

A collective groan emanated from the class as he began passing the tests around, and Vaughn felt his palms begin to sweat and his heart thump in the familiar way that it did when teachers passed out exams. He released a deep breath as he received his test paper and took a long look at the first question, telling himself he was smart enough for this and he could pass this test. The past week had been spent studying for this exam and avoiding Josie, yet he felt no more confident in sitting down now to the test than when it was first announced. Vaughn took a deep breath as he thumbed through the pages, his mind tumbling over the possible outcomes of this exam and what his father's reaction would be to yet another low grade. His heart beat a little faster.

Vaughn sighed again as he put his pencil to the paper, eyes narrowing as he worked to decipher the words whose letters appeared a mess to him. Just as he began to write, however, Principle Durst came bursting through the door and, with a quick glance towards Vaughn, strode quickly towards Professor Z. Every head in the room popped up to watch the pair confer quietly, the principle's worried expression rapidly spreading to the teacher's. Vaughn noticed Z look in his direction with concerned eyes, and he tensed as he wondered what was going on, though he briefly pondered whether whatever it was would get him out of the test.

"Mr. Pearson," Principle Durst called to him. "Would you come with me, please?" Her normally booming voice was soft and her hand beckoned him to the front of the classroom. "Take your things with you," she added gently, as he paused nervously and turned back to his desk to collect his bag and test paper.

Vaughn felt the eyes of his classmates on him as he followed Durst towards the door, and chewed his lip in confusion when he saw Z's sympathetic look as Vaughn handed back his unused exam.

"Vaughn," Durst said in an uncharacteristically soft voice once they were outside of the classroom. Vaughn's brow furrowed further and he felt a nervous ache grow in the pit of his stomach as he watched her shift uneasily before him. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and the pain in his stomach grew. He knew something was wrong. "Vaughn, we received a call from the hospital. You're father's had a heart attack."

He stared at her for a moment and she paused to let him absorb the shock, his surprise written across his features. He blinked a few times and his mouth fell open, but Vaughn couldn't manage to form any words. Of all the things he was expecting Durst to say to him, it definitely wasn't this, and the news hit him like a punch to his stomach. Fear began to creep over him as a hundred different thoughts swarmed around his head. Is he alright? Is he dead? What hospital is he in? What'll happen to me if he dies? How did it happen, isn't he too young for a heart attack?

"He was taken to the emergency room," Durst continued, putting a hand on Vaughn's shoulder and walking him towards the school's front door. "The secretary called a car to take you over there, it should be here shortly."

Vaughn nodded numbly and swallowed, starring at the ground in front of him. A pile of fallen leaves had been picked up by the wind and was swirling in a typhoon, and Vaughn's eyes fixed on it, captivated by the sight as a thick, tense silence settled between the pair. He gave Durst a sideways glance and saw her opening her mouth to speak, then quickly shut it as their eyes met. There wasn't really much to say, anyway, Vaughn supposed. His father was in the hospital. He might be dead. He might not be. But there wasn't anything that either of them could say or do about it at the moment.

A sleek black car pulled up the path in front of them a short time later and Vaughn got in, giving Durst a quick look of thanks after she informed him that she'd come by the hospital as soon as she was able and to call the school with any news. She shut the car door after him and Vaughn sat tensely, back straight and hands in his lap, staring out the window as the car pulled away from his school. He continued this for a few minutes more before settling back into the leather seat as the car eased to a stop at a traffic light, and breathed a shaky sigh that caused the driver to glance up at him through the rear-view mirror. Noticing this, Vaughn scrunched himself a little further down in the seat and folded his arms across his chest, as if trying to hide himself in plain sight.

In his mind Vaughn began to picture the rest of his life like this, or at least the rest of his childhood – he'd be an orphan, and always the focus and pity of those around him. He already was often the center of attention, particularly since he'd been in high school, and not just because of his dead mother, he mused. He was "Vaughn Pearson," and the simple name brought with it more attention than unassuming and privately insecure boy wanted. The name was infamous, especially within Blake Holsey High, as his father was both revered and feared by those around him, leaving a distinct imprint of similar infamy upon Vaughn. While the outwardly arrogant Vaughn loved to hear whispered talk of his athletic glory and listen to the thunderous applause of a crowd as he ran down the football field, he despised the connection people quickly made between his father and himself; the surreptitious looks and murmured "…Pearson!"'s he garnered in the hallways at school, and the expressions of suppressed shock and awe on a stranger's face when he told them his last name, often followed by a cautious "Victor Pearson's son?" He sometimes thought that one of the things he loved so much about sports and being a star athlete, one of the most popular kids in school, was that it gave him an identity separate from his father's. He wasn't just "Victor Pearson's son." He was Vaughn Pearson.

What would people say about him now, he wondered. "Poor Vaughn Pearson, both his parents are dead." "Victor was a bastard, but it's too bad he's dead, he's left his kid all alone." Others, he was sure, would care nothing for his being left parentless and care only that his father was dead, and wondered how many of those people would mourn him and how many would celebrate his death.

Shaking his head slightly at the thought, Vaughn reminded himself that his father was not yet dead, at least not that he knew of, and that he very well could survive. He wondered what his father would think if he knew that Vaughn was already planning for after his death.

He'd probably be happy that I'm thinking ahead, praise me for my good strategy, thought Vaughn.

Vaughn attempted to remind himself constantly that his father could be okay, could make a full recovery, but thoughts of what would happen, how he would react, how he would feel if the elder Pearson died kept creeping into his head.

He fast-forwarded to college, imagined having to tell every new person he met there about where he came from.

What're your parents like?

Well, they're both dead, actually.

His father would never get to see him play college football, or even promise to be there and then not show up. He wouldn't see Vaughn finish college and land a successful job, though what that job would was still a fuzzy point at the moment. He wouldn't be there for his high school graduation, and Vaughn began to realize with a sickening feeling that he might never have the opportunity to try to please his father ever again, to prove that he was smart, loyal, a good son worthy of his father's pride.

His father would never able to promise to make it to another game, Vaughn thought, even if he ultimately wouldn't show. He'd never be able to disappoint Vaughn again, and the thought caused a lump to rise in his throat, almost breaking into a wave of tears. Who would ever be there, now, he wondered, or at least promise to be there. Who would he look for, wait for, when glancing up from the football field or inside the gym.

What would happen to him if his father died, Vaughn wondered, and his chest tightened as a painful ache grew deep in his stomach.

You're so selfish, he thought to himself, ashamed. Selfish and stupid, stupid, stupid. He's not dead – you don't know how he is, and if he's – if he's dead… His mind stumbled at the thought, unable to gauge how he would feel at the moment he might hear such news.

If he's dead, it's not just you who's hurt by it. God, not everything's always about you, stupid idiot. Dumb, stupid, selfish, and stop thinking this shit. What would he say about all this self-pity? This, he wouldn't be proud of.

The thought hardened him a bit, helped Vaughn steel himself as the car pulled up to the curb in front of the revolving doors marked with a large sign reading VISITOR'S ENTRANCE. Vaughn mumbled a thanks to the driver as he left the car behind and walked into the tall, looming hospital building in search of his father. He briefly thought of school, and it seemed like a lifetime ago that he was back there worrying about his science test.