trying to finagle information out of your divinely powered siblings can be a hassle when they don’t consider the fact that you haven’t been hit with Phoebus Apollo’s prophecy genes
you would think this is not relevant when you just want to know what time it is.
(yellow: Tertius. top is primus; left is secundus; right is quartana. this is when all four of them are still alive)
ok after some japery in a server and realizing that being a war criminal might run in the family, i decided to map out octavian & his siblings’ rankings on the war criminal chart that i just made for this very purpose.
fesdfsgfsakjehkfgaew let’s see how consistent i can be w/uploading content here. here is some tragic no-context octavian siblings Quartana and Tertius good day .
oh btw quartana isn’t like. short or anything it’s just that tertius is crazy tall
“Hey,” Artie whispers softly, his eyes tired behind his glasses as he clutches Santana's in his hand. “You're back.”
She nods silently as she takes in how Santana's chest rises and falls steadily, her hand clutched into the blanket draped over her and her head buried in the pillow on Artie's lap.
“She doing okay?” she asks softly.
He nods and runs his knuckles up and down Santana's back over her t-shirt. “I think so,” he says. “At least, she's doing better than she could be, I think. When did you get back?”
She kicks off her shoes before wandering over to sit in the space behind Santana. “I got back a while ago. I had coffee with Sam and Rachel before I came up.”
Artie chuckles. “Did they notice you past their sudden huge mutual crushes on each other?” he asks as quietly as he can.
Quinn grins at the words. “I know, right? The elephant in the room is, like, neon.”
Artie smiles and he moves his hand to let Quinn stroke up and down Santana's back slowly. She scratches gently at the top of her spine before holding her hand out to take the glasses from his hand. He hands them over without argument and she sees him narrow his eyes as she puts them behind her on the nightstand at the same time she lifts up Santana's shirt.
“Did Rachel check her bandages?” she asks softly. He shakes his head, peering curiously down to where Quinn's hands reverently run over Santana's back. She can already see through the thin white adhesive dressings that they probably haven't been changed today.
“Just getting her to change her clothes was hard enough,” he mutters softly as he takes Santana's shirt from Quinn's hands when it keeps slipping over where she's trying to look. “Is it bad?” he asks curiously. “What did they even do?”
Quinn looks up at him as she jumps up from the bed and quickly grabs new dressings from the plastic bag full the hospital gave them on the dresser.
“They put a gigantic needle into her back and sucked out her bone marrow,” she says when she's settled back on the bed. Artie grimaces. “It's not that bad,” she says softly. “They look like... puncture marks, I guess. We just have to keep them clean until they're healed, but she keeps moving around instead of resting and agitating them.”
His nose turns up as Quinn peels the old dressings away.
“She's like... purple,” he comments. Quinn rolls her eyes.
“So she's been told,” she says as she gently wipes Santana's back with an antiseptic wipe before replacing the dressings. “That'll have to do for now,” she says with a sigh before sitting back on the bed.
She's not prepared for the way that Artie's staring at her.
“What about you?” he says without pause. “How are you?” His hands reach out and she gasps quietly when his fingers brush over her bandages. “Who's changing your bandages?”
She swallows, suddenly overcome with a rush of something she hasn't felt in what feels like forever. It burns, but in a good way, rushing up her arm and into her shoulder until it blossoms in her chest. She breathes out unevenly and her fingers twitch when his brush back down and tickle over her own until he pulls away.
“Libby,” she says, answering the question, even though she's sure that's not entirely what he meant. “And Santana, I guess... before all this stuff happened. And Frank.”
“But you're okay?” he asks, almost frantically. “I mean... you're... you know?”
She nods at the question, her lips pursed together as their fingers almost touch over Santana's back. Quinn strokes her hands over Santana's back, pulling her shirt down, if only to stop the tingling in her fingers that makes her feel like she's losing control. It doesn't fit with the sudden panic that swirls in her head. She can't take all these competing feelings at once.
“I'm...” she trails off and plasters on the best smile she can. “I'm good,” she nods.
He nods and then he clears his throat. She looks up at him nervously as his cheeks flush adorably pink, his hands toying with a loose thread on the blanket covering Santana.
“Can I say that I'm sorry?” Artie says all of a sudden. Quinn looks up at him, their eyes catching in the lamp light. She frowns her confusion. “About... how things were before you left? About my obsessive need to find out what was wrong with you and embarrass you in front of everyone and everything?”
A laugh leaves her awkwardly. She nods. “Sure,” she says. “You don't have to, but... whatever.”
Artie smiles. “Cool,” he says. “Because I am. Really sorry, that is. I was just... I was just worried about you, ya know?”
Quinn nods. “I know.”
Suddenly, things feel weird and awkward. “I should go to my room,” she says softly.
“No! No...” She looks at him as he grabs for her hand as she pulls away. “No,” he repeats again. “You should be here with her and, I would move if I could, but...” He shakes his head softly. “I don't mind if you don't. We can watch some more TV.”
She looks at him for a second before nodding. She'd be lying if she said that, all those nights she'd been lying beside Santana, she hadn't been wishing she was lying beside him instead or as well, feeling the regret of the last words they'd said to each other. If she was honest, after the embarrassment of breaking down like she had done, the only reason she'd refused to speak to him was because of how much she wanted to. She felt pathetic, feeling so suddenly attached to someone who had barely expressed his feelings for her, whom she'd treated so badly. She knew it was unhealthy and she's determined to get better. If anything, she's determined to get better and she wants that to be for no one but herself.
“Here,” Artie says softly and she watches as he holds Santana's head so that he can shift down more comfortably on the bed. She wordlessly helps him arrange his legs when he can't reach and waits for instruction. He takes away the pillow and urges Santana to rest on his stomach. It's kinda cute, how she snuggles into his tummy, her hand moving to fist in his shirt. Quinn strokes her hair back from her face and pulls the blanket over the three of them.
“Here,” Artie says softly, tapping his chest. “That way everyone who needs to be cuddled does.”
He blushes at his own words, and laughs awkwardly, but Quinn's heart flutters in her chest in a way it's never really done before. She smiles at him, her mouth contorting strangely as she stares at him. He smiles and she sees something falter a little at how long she's taking. Her own smile widens before she leans over to get the lamp and then listens as he gasps when she rests her head on his chest, right over his heart.
They lay in silence, faces lit by the colors of the television, but never really watch it. Quinn wraps one arm around herself while the other rests comfortably on Santana's elbow. Her eyes flicker closed at how warm and safe she feels, the covers pulled up around her and Artie's hand pressed to her own shoulder.
“Quinn,” he whispers after she doesn't know how long. She turns her head to him, eyes slow and heavy as they blink, hypnotized into exhaustion by the comfort. He reaches for her wrist and gently plays with the bones of it through her bandage. “Can I hold your hand?” he asks quietly, voice breaking.
Her breath hitches. She doesn't even think.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “Please.”
She lifts her hand and watches as his palm presses to the back of hers before he locks their fingers together. She captures his thumb in her palm with her own and looks in disbelief at it, filled with something bigger than she understands or knows, her mind muddied with thick sleep.
“Goodnight, Quinn,” she hears him whisper a little while later and then, before she finally drifts off to sleep, feels a kiss pressed to the soft spot of her skull.
