This isn't beta-read, but I did try and check it through myself, so apologies for any mistakes there may be. I'm also not satisfied with the ending but I have mocks throughout most of November and December and I didn't want to post nothing since my last Fic over summer until Christmas, so here we are.

Okay. Notes. We're going with my usual thing of having John as the second eldest and blond. No, there is nothing romantic between him and Penelope in this. This covers a couple of pretty angsty topics and references depression, so if you feel this may have a negative effect on your mental health then please keep yourself safe. Feel free to send me a message at any time, by the way.

At the moment this should stay a oneshot, although there is a possibility of a second chapter if enough people want that. Okay? I think we're good. Enjoy the story!

Signing up for living on campus was easily one of the worst decisions John had ever made, which considering he admitted to taking dance lessons in seventh grade (the bullies loved that), set his brother's science textbook on fire and once broke his ankle by climbing onto the roof during a storm, is saying a lot.

The first mistake he made was flipping his mattress. Considering Scott had been at college for two years, John felt a bit cheated on the advice front. The patchwork of stains collected across the base of the mattress were a disturbing variety of unidentifiable colours and questionable sources. He hoped the room's previous occupant had been a Netflix and snacks kind of guy rather than the other Netflix kind of guy because otherwise the stains didn't bear thinking about.

So. The bed sucked. The rest of the room wasn't too bad. His roommate kept to himself (read as, he took one look at the gangly blond curled into a ball in the corner clutching a book for dear life and left to find cooler friends) and was rarely home, which meant he didn't complain when John stacked his books onto the opposite shelves as well as his own and stuck photos onto what was supposed to be their shared pin board. The brunette he shared his psychology course with, Louise, took one look when they were working on their project, and declared his décor skills to be that of an early 2000's Tumblr hipster.

The walls were too thin. That was one of the biggest flaws John had identified in the past few weeks (and he'd had a lot of opportunities to discover such problems given he hadn't left the campus in all that time). During the day it was relatively quiet, but at night there were the shrieks from the next room over and the sounds of parties from further down the corridor. Back in Kansas, he had the attic room. This was mainly due to the abundance of skylights which were perfect for a star-gazing nerd such as himself, but also meant he was far away from the bustling of the lower rooms. Occasionally angry shouts would echo up the stairs when Gordon lost at whatever video game he was fighting Alan at, but the rest of the time was bathed in silence. Silence was good. Disturbing noises from next door? Not good.

John stared up at the ceiling. There were flecks revealing brickwork where the paint had peeled away and a stain in the far corner which, if he peered at it from the right angle, looked a bit like a starfish. In the corridor someone was crying, loudly, and he wondered whether he should be poking his head out the door to check if they were okay or not. The trouble with that was the fact that he would then catch sight of his desk which was smothered in notes and assignments which he hadn't even begun to make a start on. Logically, he should make a start, but the idea of moving from the blanket burrito he had forged for himself was exhausting. And what, really, was the point?

He sniffed and tugged the duvet tighter to his chin. Oh, he was definitely spiralling. The idea of the deadlines looming on the horizon had him clutching at his hair until it hurt and his chest grew tighter. So no, thinking about assignments was a no go. He should call someone but that would include questions, and he didn't have answers.

There was a knock at the door. John ignored it in favour of tilting his head back until he knocked it against the crumbling plaster behind him.

"John, open the door."

Ah. Right. So, not totally alone. Penelope Creighton-Ward had taken him under her wing, deciding that he was very much like a lost puppy, with the cute factor included, and was now dedicating her free time when not running various committees to checking up on him. He was her proclaimed cinnamon roll. Well. John was on Tumblr. He knew what that meant. And, to be fair, he couldn't exactly argue with her.

There was an exasperated sigh accompanied by a scratching at the keyhole before the door swung open to reveal the concerned looking blonde. John rubbed at his eyes and blinked at her, wondering if he was seeing things. Penelope caught his baffled look and tossed her hair over her shoulder, pushing the door to with her elbow.

"Don't," she warned him. "I know what I look like."

"Clever, blonde and gorgeous?"

Penelope's smile returned. "Talking about yourself again?"

John made a non-committal noise that leant more towards disagree on the scale of opinions, and wrapped his arms about his chest, shivering at the blast of cold air that had entered with the door. Penelope, usually well put together, even after a late night's study session (the woman had to be a witch – she didn't even need coffee), slipped off her heels, discarding them at the end of the bed, and sat down on the mattress. Her hair was loosely held back with a lone hairband, and her makeup was somewhat smudged, yet she still looked stunning. Aesthetic, John supplied mentally and fought not to laugh at his own thought.

"What's wrong?"

Penelope narrowed her eyes at him. "I should be asking you that. When did you last leave this room?" John decided it was best not to answer that. "You're proving my point here." She sighed, shuffling back and digging her feet under the duvet. "Maddison says hello."

There was a pause. "Who's Maddison?"

"Oh John." Penelope ducked her head to hide her grin. For a moment there was a comfortable silence as Penelope gathered her thoughts and John considered whether to wallow in self pity or insecurities tonight. Either was likely. He startled out of the thoughts by a hand in his hair and sky-blue eyes staring at him, wide with concern. "You know, I've given you space, but it's not working."

John resisted the urge to make an astronomy pun. Somehow, amongst the whole not eating and not leaving the room issue, he figured it wouldn't go down too well.

"You've got to talk to me. Come on," she tapped his forehead. "What's going on in there?"

"Right now? A general vortex of reasons for existence and how oblivion is inevitable."

Most people would have been deterred. Taken aback, at the very least. But Penelope was a woman on a mission, and she was a Creighton-Ward and consequently was not giving up easily. She hummed softly under her breath, continuing to run her fingers through John's hair. He had to give her credit for that; he wasn't entirely sure what day it was, but he could guarantee he hadn't taken a shower in the past forty-eight hours at least. Come to think of it, he wasn't entirely sure he'd even moved in the past forty-eight hours. He frowned. Wow, he had some issues.

"When was the last time you ate?" John fiddled with a corner of the duvet. The threads were coming loose, but he was damned if he was going to replace something from home any time soon. "Alright, let's try something else. When did you last leave this bed?"

His eyes were burning suspiciously. Not that he was emotionally repressed or anything, but hello, only one friend. He was still wondering about that, by the way. Penelope was graceful and intelligent and well put together, and John was an awkward dork who was overly obsessed with bagels and stars and hid in the library during meals. Why was she friends with him again?

Penelope swung her legs off the bed, and tugged open one of the drawers, rifling through his limited clothing selection with an expression of true disgust.

"Other than your admittedly comfortable hoodie, which I will be stealing by the way, you are a fashion disaster."

"Thanks."

"It wasn't a compliment." Penelope sighed, dragging the hairband free of her ponytail and coaxing her hair into a messy bun. Hands on hips, she turned to face her friend with an air of defiance about her, eyes narrowed with the sort of determination that had her father running. "Right. Priorities. We are going to make you feel better and we are going to sort your awful clothing choices. Step one," she held up a finger dangerously close to John's face. "You are going to go take a shower."

John dropped his head back into the pillow. "No."

"Yes. Where do you keep your towels?"

"Right hand drawer at the top." Penelope identified it, and retrieved said item, collecting a plain white t-shirt and the only pair of jeans she could find at the same time. "Penny." There was something in his voice that had her pausing in her tracks, turning to face him and waiting expectantly.

John stared at her, shoulders slumped, the duvet trailing about his knees. "I'm tired."

"Right, but-"

"You're not getting it."

"No." She settled down next to him, raising his chin with two fingers until he met her searching gaze. "I understand. At first I thought it was just a slump and you'd get yourself out of it, but this," she gestured to the general area of his cave of darkness. "This shows you need a little help and that is perfectly fine, before you say otherwise. So, I am going to help you until you get back on your feet. Okay?"

John rubbed at his eyes, which were watering traitorously. "Okay." He offered Penelope a small smile and allowed her to take his hand and drag the duvet away from him. Farewell to the blanket burrito, he thought sadly, you will be missed.

Communal showers were on his list of most hated things. This was an actual list, scripted in the back of one of his journals, because technology was awesome, but he did not trust his brothers one bit and computers could be hacked. Considering his multiple years of bullying hell throughout his schooling and distaste for humans in general, to make it onto this list was quite an achievement. Needless to say, he crept into the bathroom clinging to the small bundle of towel, clothes, and some sort of coconut shampoo Penelope had insisted upon, with a sense of trepidation. Other than the stall at the far end, it was empty; classes had finished around thirty minutes before, and most students were either taking a nap or were already out on the town.

The water was freezing at first, and there was a suspicious groaning from the pipes as heat flooded through, but John had to admit that he felt slightly better for it. And hey, if he'd had a little cry while no-one could hear him over the sound of the running water, then who was there to judge? It was only when he realised exactly what Penelope had picked out for him to wear that he had to fight the urge to throw himself out the nearest window.

"Penny!" He threw open the door, storming in with the damp towel draped around his shoulders like a cat. "Did you seriously have to make me wear these?"

"What's wrong with them? I've seen you wear skinny jeans before. Admittedly, several weeks ago before your sweatpants phase, but my point still stands."

John gave a pitiful whine. "They're ripped skinny jeans." He finally took in his friend's appearance and double took. "Is that my hoodie?"

Penelope shrugged. "I warned you." She had discarded the no-doubt-designer-thank-you-very-much top in a designated washing pile of sheets and blankets on the floor, an odd sock lying on the top that John was ninety percent certain didn't belong to either of them. Instead she was dressed in her skirt from earlier, paired with his NASA hoodie and his silver high-top Converse, yet somehow was making the outfit work. "What?"

John tossed the towel to the laundry pile. "Nothing." He crossed to her side, allowing her to drape an arm about his waist and press her chin to his shoulder (he was sure she had to be up on her tip-toes for that to work).

"You have no food in the fridge," she murmured, frowning. "Have you lost more weight?"

"Debatable. Get me some scales, let's find out." She took a step towards the door. "No, God no, I was joking, please don't do that."

Penelope had an air of fond exasperation about her as she hovered about the doorway. "Get a coat and some shoes on, I'm taking you for a proper meal. Yes," she added with a look of mock horror. "You, John Glenn Tracy, are leaving campus."

John ignored the jest, shoving one foot into a trainer. "How do you even know my middle name?"

She tapped her nose. "A magician never reveals her secrets." She linked her arm with his, despite the outcry that would no doubt follow if they were spotted by anyone. Most of the freshmen already had bets on whether they were dating or not (spoiler: they weren't. John's lack of girlfriend since the mistake that was eighth grade had raised many theories, normally by Gordon and Alan, but that was a whole other can of worms that he was not going to think about right now) but Penelope disregarded their opinions with an aura of disapproval that had many admirers.

"I'm being serious," John muttered, slouched against the doorway of Penelope's room. "I'm not going shopping with you. Not tonight, at least." He wouldn't put it past her to take matters into her own hands if he refused outright.

Penelope retrieved her handbag, applied a fresh coat of lipstick and swiped stray mascara away from under her eyes. "Of course not," she indulged him. "But you have to eat a full meal. Otherwise I'm taking you shopping right now."

John groaned and closed his eyes, heels slipping against the doorframe as he slumped further. Something whizzed through the air towards him and years of younger siblings had his hand flying up to catch the projectile on instinct. "Is this a beanie?"

"You can borrow this coat, as well. Don't complain about it being a girl's, I've seen the labels on the back of your jumpers; I know you don't care about that sort of thing."

He didn't try to argue. Besides, the jacket was soft inside and warm with that faux-fur that you can imagine is a blanket if you close your eyes, and the beanie wasn't so different to the sort of thing he wore when it got really cold in Kansas. Penelope scrutinised him through the strap of her handbag as she slipped it over her shoulder.

"Put your glasses on."

"Penny, no."

"It'll look cute!"

"I don't look cute in glasses," (or at all, a little voice added in his head and he tried not to flinch at the intrusive thought), "I look like a sad nerd."

There was a pause in which they both tried not to point out the obvious. Penelope failed within ten seconds. "But you are a sad nerd. And I love you for it. Now come on, I'm hungry."

Dusk was settling over the land as the taxi sped into the inner city, casting a warm golden glow over the buildings, amber light reflecting about the skyscrapers and windows of apartment blocks. Darkness dripped into the sky high above the horizon, signifying the oncoming night. John rested his head against the window, the cold bleeding from the glass into his skin keeping him awake and preventing him from spiralling into his thoughts once more. John Tracy thinks too much. He huffed a laugh. Yeah, that had always been his problem. Caring and thinking too much.

After a brief scuffle about who was paying the cab-driver (John won purely by shoving a fistful of bills through the window first), he found himself trailing Penelope into a small restaurant that was not immediately noticeable from the street. He took a moment to take in the sights, admiring the bright lights (yes, he loved clear skies, but he could appreciate the beauty that were the colourful lights of the urban lifestyle) and taking in air that was so cold he started coughing. Penelope practically dragged him off the streets, which was somewhat concerning; she was by no means weak, but he was a (mostly) grown man who was over six foot and it should not have been so easy for her. Okay, maybe she was right about the whole losing weight thing. He dreaded to think of how a certain overprotective brother, father and grandmother were going to react when he went home for Thanksgiving.

"Table for two, please." Penelope's voice infiltrated his thoughts and John shook himself back to reality, sliding into a leather-lined chair and grabbing a menu to occupy his hands. Penelope snatched it back, refusing to let him sneak another glance. "No, I'm ordering. I don't trust you."

John raised a brow. "Thanks…?"

She leant across the table and knocked his glasses further down his nose. "Just let me, alright?"

"I really don't think I have a choice, but if it'll make you feel better if I agree, then alright. But nothing too sugary. Or too-"

Penelope shot him a fierce look that would have had any person who didn't know her quivering in their seat with fear and stalked off to find the waiter – she wasn't very good when it came to patience. John tugged the beanie off his head and shoved it into the pocket of his borrowed jacket, running a hand through his hair and catching the scent of coconut as he did so. Left alone at the table he was all too aware of everything going on around him. The couple to the right were definitely watching, the group of kids in the corner were judging him (glasses and beanie equals what, anyone?) and the voices seemed overly loud.

A hand slipped into his own.

"Are you alright?"

John opened his mouth to reply and then shut it again with an audible snap. "I…no." He dropped his head into his free hand, hiding from Penelope's searching look. His voice broke on the word and he took a deep breath, tightly shutting his eyes. He was not crying in front of Penelope, and especially not in public. Which, given she had dragged him out of his self-proclaimed blanket-burrito slash depression-cave, was pretty pointless; she wasn't about to judge him.

"Okay." Penelope squeezed his hand, a warm smile gracing her features. "Can you tell me a little more? Help me understand?"

"Everything is pointless, I can't get everything done, but even if I did what is the point in that, I can't help anyone right now, and some days it feels like I can't breathe and I'm so tired all the time, and god, people are just too much." He coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, end of rant?" Penelope was silent. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to-"

"I'm glad you told me. There's a lot to address there." She paused as their food arrived, accompanied by two glasses of white wine. John didn't argue with her apparent decision to force-feed him and then get him tipsy. It sounded like a great plan.

He stared down at the plate in front of him, fighting the wave of nausea at the idea of eating. With a surge of defiance, he stabbed some of the pasta. How was he angry at his own mind? He made no sense, even to himself. Huh. Fun times. He stabbed some more pasta. It was surprisingly good, with proper parmesan and everything.

"Who needs help?"

Me, John silently joked. "What do you mean?"

"You said you couldn't help anyone. Where does that stem from?"

He chased a stray piece of penne about the plate with his fork. "My brother. He's…he's trying to figure some stuff out."

"Such as?"

"What he's going to do with his life, I guess. He loves art and music, but he's great at engineering too, and Dad isn't making it a secret that he wants him to take engineering as a major. The fact Virgil's hesitating at all suggests to me that he doesn't want that, but both me and Scott are away right now, so he hasn't really got anyone for advice."

"Has he spoken with your father about it?"

"I told him to. He's…well, it's not Dad he usually talks to."

"You?"

"No, actually, it's Scott, but after he left, yeah, it was me for a time."

Penelope hummed, and took another bite of her chicken salad. "I suppose you miss them a lot. You seem close with your family."

Now that was something John was sure about. "Yes," he agreed, unable to fight the smile that he had no doubt made him look like a complete idiot. "I think…I have this amazing opportunity, and I know where I want to get to, but it just feels like I can't do anything about it."

Penelope motioned for him to continue and snagged a piece of the garlic bread that had been delivered as a side for his pasta. She continued to defy stereotypes every time John was around her.

"It's like yes, there's this point which I want to reach, but it seems so far away, and even moving out of bed is just so much…like the world seems too heavy. Humans have a habit of ruining everything we touch, such as this planet and each other, which means by default we end up ruining ourselves and…is this making any sense at all?" He paused in his rambling.

"Surprisingly, yes." Penelope placed down her knife and fork. "It's okay to be scared and to feel like this."

"That's not what I…"

"Slow process. That's what it is. But you had a shower and agreed to come out with me and you've just eaten…most of that pasta, so I'd count that as a win. You just need to work through this." She tapped her fingers against the edge of the table. Her nail polish glimmered in the dim lighting of the lamp bolted to the wall next to them beside a vase of fake flowers that could definitely do with a dust.

"I'm so far behind. There's no way I'm gonna pass any of my exams this semester."

"Well, you'll definitely pass astronomy. You just need to ask for some extra time or ask if you can make up the credit. I'll come with you and see if I can persuade your teachers a little." There was a wicked gleam of excitement in her eyes at that idea which had John cringing. His teachers should be on the run if they knew what was good for them.

"Don't permanently maim anyone."

"No promises."

John gave a small chuckle. The waiter retrieved the plates, leaving them with the wine and their thoughts. In John's (admittedly limited) social experience, this was never a good thing. The conversation drifted from what they were planning to major in to the best flavour of sorbet to summer in Paris (John had never been but now he was planning to). There was a warm buzz from the alcohol and he was flopped forwards against the table, grinning stupidly at something Penelope had just said, when her next words had sobriety flooding back to him like a cold shower.

"I think we need to tell someone in your family about the last month, and how you're feeling."

"What? Come on, no."

"One of your brothers, maybe?"

"There's literally only one person in my family who's an option."

"Scott, right?"

"Oh, so you were listening? Good, then you should know that I don't want them to know."

Penelope finished her glass, her posture tense. "John. I can't be with you all the time, especially not during the holidays. From what you've told me, your family is very close." She studied him. "What are you scared of?"

"I'm not scared of anything."

"Your reluctance to tell them suggests otherwise."

"I…just don't want to worry them." He sighed, tapping the side of his glass thoughtfully. "Although if Dad finds out how many classes I've skipped, he'll find out anyway." The thought of his desk reappeared, and he couldn't help but shiver, subconsciously taking quicker breaths. Penelope placed a hand on his wrist.

"John, we will sort your academics out. That isn't a problem." She checked her phone. "Go and get us a cab, I'll pay." She shot him a threatening look. "I promised I would, so no arguments."

The night air was brisk, and John wrapped his jacket tighter around his shoulders. There was a northerly breeze flitting between the high-rise apartment blocks that had a nasty bite to it and he rubbed his hands together in an effort to regain the sensation in his fingers. The cab driver who stopped was a gruff man with a kind heart who turned up the heating upon the sight of John's shivers and Penelope's thin coat.

"Cold night."

John gave him a breathless nod. "Yeah. Thanks for stopping."

"Where to?"

Penelope leant forwards, listing the address. John caught her arm as she settled back in her seat.

"That's not the Harvard address."

"I know. We're going to a twenty-four-seven store first to stock you up with food. I have a lecture tomorrow morning and I won't be able to come and force-feed you breakfast, but at least I'll know that you have it as an option."

John watched her in silence for a minute until Penelope shuffled in her seat. "What?"

"You're an amazing friend. I haven't told you that before, but you are."

She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. "Thank you. You deserve the best."

He laughed at that one. "Thanks, Penny."

About two hours later John dropped face first onto his mattress with a groan and made a conscientious decision not to move for the next eight hours. He wasn't sure if it was him or the alcohol talking, but either way sleep won out. He was briefly aware that Penelope was still flitting about his room but was too tired to think much of it.

"Knock, knock, delivery."

John lifted his head from the pillow, rubbing at the crease marks he knew had to be imprinted on his cheek from the crumpled fabric and decided that it was both too bright and too early. Plus, you know, his head was killing him. God, he was such a light weight; it wasn't even funny.

"Hello?"

John cursed into the crook of his arm. "G'way."

"No can do."

The voice seemed strangely familiar. With a heavy sigh, John flopped over and came face to face with a note in curved writing that practically shouted Penelope. She still had his clothes, he learnt, and if he didn't have breakfast then she would find out, hunt him down, and systematically dunk his telescope lenses in sulphuric acid until they were ruined. He winced. The knocking at the door was doing nothing for his head and, with a pause to recognise that he actually felt good enough to leave his room and go take a shower after answering whichever jerk was at the door, John pulled it open and crossed his arms.

"What?" He demanded venomously. Okay, goodbye crushing sadness, hello anger. It was only then that he looked up, froze on the spot and promptly decided that he had to be dreaming.

"Surprise, little brother."

And, in true John fashion, because social interaction was not his strong point, he replied: "What the hell?"

Scott grinned. "Nice to see you too."

"Why aren't you at Yale?"

"Got a call from one of your friends. She said you needed me here but, to quote, were too stubborn to call me yourself and ask for help. I knew it was definitely you then because...well, stubborn and Tracy in the same sentence."

John was still staring at him in confusion but felt a rush of gratitude for Penelope. Scott's gaze softened as he placed an arm on the blond's shoulder. "It's good to see you, Johnny."

"I…" John stopped talking and instead tugged his brother into a fierce hug. "I can't believe you're here," he mumbled into Scott's shoulder. Scott tightened his grip about the younger Tracy, unable to hide his frown.

"Two things. One, you're skinny as hell, what's up with that? Two, you've been off radar for days space-case. We were worried about you. If I hadn't had that call from your friend, Dad would have driven up here. You weren't answering your phone. Or emails, for that matter."

"My phone's dead."

"Laptop too?"

John blinked back tears. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Hey." Scott frowned, holding his brother at arms-length to study his expression. "What's happened?"

For a moment, John stayed silent, closing his eyes and simply breathing. "Okay," he murmured, taking a deep breath. "I need to talk to you. About the last month, and…everything since freshman year back in Kansas because I haven't been entirely honest with any of you and I'm not…"

"Okay. Let's go talk. We'll find your friend, too, if you like."

"What about your classes?"

Scott tugged John closer to his side. "I told them I had a family emergency."

"Not exactly an emergency."

"You're dealing with something and it's making you unhappy. That counts as an emergency in my books."

"We need to talk to Virgil as well."

"John, for once, can you please focus on yourself?"

"That's probably part of the problem."

Scott gave him a smile. "That's okay. Let's talk about everything and go from there."

Review?

Kat x