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The Nether wasn't a place many would describe as calming; after all, it was literally hell. But for some reason, for Graf, it carried a strange sense of peace with it that he couldn't explain in any logical manner. It just felt different, somehow. He would even go as far as to say he felt better in the Nether than in the Overworld. His mind was a lot clearer, and he felt like he could actually think without the awful brain fog he's been experiencing recently.
So, Graf found himself spending more and more of his free time here. He would come here to do anything he liked. Sometimes he mined for resources he didn't even need, just to give his hands something to do, or just sat down somewhere and let his thoughts run wild.
It was his peaceful place to the point where, eventually, he started sleeping here. At first, it started as taking a nap after he overworked himself by mining for way too long without taking a break, and he was too exhausted to go back to the base, so he just holed himself up in the netherrack and took a quick nap. When he woke up, he felt like it was the best sleep he had in years, even though he only slept for a little over an hour. It became a habit.
His peace ended when he started having these dreams. At first, they were just weird, blurry versions of events that never happened in reality. He would dream about talking to someone, and it felt very real, but he knew it never happened. The more he slept in the Nether, the more vivid the dreams became. He started remembering them.
Each dream felt impossibly real, as if he were living through memories that belonged to someone else, but were also his at the same time. In these dreams, he did the same things he did every day — he talked to his friends, built some new machines, and decorated the Polish Cave. The strangest thing was, they all had one thing in common. Multi was in all of them. They would end by Graf coming over to talk to Multi, and then he woke up. They really felt more like memories than dreams. But they couldn't be memories, could they? Not if he didn't remember them when he was awake.
At least, that's what he thought until the most recent dream happened.
It started with Graf, strapped to a heavy, metal chair, unable to move. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there, only the paralyzing sense of helplessness. Multi was standing in front of him with hands clasped behind his back, speaking to him in that cold, calculated tone he uses when he gets really serious.
He forced himself to look Multi in the eye.
"Let me out of here," he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady even as panic clawed at the edges of his mind. Multi wouldn't hurt him, would he? Some time ago, he would be sure of it, but now…
Graf knew that building the reactor took a huge toll on Multi, both mentally and physically, and he buried himself in his projects to the point where he was starting to lose it a little, but Multi was his friend before anything else. Or, at least, he used to be.
Multi dragged a hand across his face, a gesture that made him look tired, as if this situation were exhausting him. "No, no, it's already too late, Graf. We can't do that. You can't leave anymore. It's too late."
Graf tried to come up with something to say, some kind of reply. In his panicked state, he couldn't think of anything.
"You have to understand, Graf, we have to do this. You can't leave; we need to do this, okay? I promise you, it's for your own good."
"I regret not telling the North more about your reactor," he finally mustered. "I should have told them everything when I had the chance. That's my biggest regret."
Multi's smile twisted into something vicious, and Graf felt a chill run down his spine. He no longer recognized the person standing in front of him.
"I'm glad you're honest with me for once in your life. It makes me happy," Multi said, his voice softening just enough to be unsettling. "But we don't need your honesty anymore. You know why? Because I'll help you. I'll fix you, Graf. Soon, you'll be yourself again." There was something akin to genuine fondness in his words, and it terrified Graf more than anything else Multi had said that day.
Multi turned to the machine and fiddled with some buttons. It activated with a click, and something cold pressed against the back of Graf's neck. He hissed in pain at the feeling. He felt a precise cut on his skin, just below his nape. A small piece of metal was pressed deep into the wound. First pressure, then a sharp, electric pain lanced through him, and numbness flooded from his neck down to his fingertips and toes. The world blurred at the edges, color draining away as his body went limp.
The last thing he remembered was Multi's smile. He thought about how this was the happiest he'd seen his friend since they'd arrived on the island, before darkness overtook his mind.
He woke up gasping for air. His heart was hammering violently in his chest.
A chip. Multi put a chip inside him.
The dreams weren't just dreams after all — they were his memories. The things that he must have forgotten because of the chip's influence. That he forgot, but that Multi probably knew about.
Multi's voice promising to "fix" him was stuck in his head.
He took his trembling hand and pressed it against the back of his neck. He felt a scarred spot on the skin, and when he pressed down harder, a small, hard lump underneath it.
He felt like he might throw up. The panic hit him like a crushing wave. His ears were ringing, and his chest hurt with every gasp of air he took. This thing — this chip — was inside him. And Multi put it there. Graf had no idea what he made him do, what more he could make him do because of it. He probably told Multi many things he shouldn't have; he put so many people in danger, oh god. He felt so helpless. He had no idea how long it's been since Multi did this to him.
As long as he has the chip inside of him, he's a threat to everyone. Multi owned him.
With a shaking hand, he grabbed the knife out of his pocket.
His mind spiraled. He looked at the knife in his hand, and he tried not to think about how it looked duller than he would have liked. He pulled his communicator out and placed it on a block next to him, as a makeshift mirror. It wasn't great, but it would have to do.
He located the spot where the chip was, using his other hand, and pressed the blade against his skin. He took a deep breath and cut.
The first cut was shallow. It still made him let out a whimper. The pain was immediate, but he had to get the chip out no matter what. He pressed the knife deeper.
He felt a surge of hot, blinding pain, as blood started to pour down his neck and onto his back. He screamed with pain, and he felt tears starting to pour down his face.
He had to keep going. He had to get it out.
Every one of his breaths came out as a shallow sob, as he was trying to carve the chip out as quickly as possible. His hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped the knife.
Finally, he felt the chip shift at the tip of the knife, and with a relieved sob, he grabbed it with his other hand. It was small, smaller than he thought it would be when he felt it underneath his skin. He didn't look at it for too long; instead, he chucked it into a nearby lava pool.
He was free.
The knife fell out of his hand and clattered to the floor. He pressed his now free hand to the wound, but the blood was pouring freely between his fingers. There was a lot of blood, so much more than he expected. His vision started to get dark at the edges, and he suddenly realized, oh god, I'm gonna pass out and bleed out here, I'm gonna die.
In his overwhelming panic, he grabbed his warpstone and teleported to the first place that popped up in his mind. The world spun around him, and his eyesight got even more blurry. He never got nauseous from the teleportation as some people do, but at this very moment, he felt like he might throw up.
Juan really thought he would have a good day when he woke up this morning.
And he did, up until the moment when Graf showed up at the art store, drenched in blood, looking like some wild animal had attacked him. He was scarily pale, and his eyes were half-lidded and unfocused. He looked like he was about to pass out any second. For a split second, Juan was frozen with disbelief, but then Graf’s knees buckled.
Juan's heart stopped in his chest. He got up from his seat and rushed over to him.
"Graf—?! What the fuck happened to you?!" he shouted, panic rising in his chest.
Right as he got to Graf's side, the man collapsed into his outstretched arms. Juan's knees buckled under the full weight of Graf's half-limp body, almost knocking him to the ground, but he did his best to keep steady. Graf slumped against him. His head lolled onto Juan's shoulder, and Juan could feel his shallow breath on his skin.
From this angle, Juan noticed the source of the blood; Graf was bleeding profusely from a wound on his neck. It looked like someone cut it open in a really messy way. Blood was covering his whole back, as well as his chest and arms. The scent of it was overwhelming from up close. It looked like he tried to block some of the blood flow with his hand, but now, it was pouring freely, not stopped by anything. He could feel Graf's body trembling against him.
"Who did this to you?" His voice cracked. It didn't look like an accident. Did someone try to kill Graf?
"I… I did," Graf mumbled weakly. His eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open, and there was a hollow look in his eyes that made Juan’s chest ache. He hated seeing Graf this hurt.
"What the fuck do you mean you did this?!" Juan choked out, trying to make sense of Graf's words. "Don't tell me now, just don't pass out on me, okay? Keep your eyes open. I'm gonna fix you up, okay?"
Juan’s gaze darted around the cramped, cluttered shop — he only had painting supplies and some of his personal items here, but nothing that could stop this much blood. Nothing that would be helpful in this moment. He cursed under his breath.
"Hold on, Graf, just— hold on for a second. I'm gonna take you to the North, yeah? I'm gonna take you to my room, and we will deal with this. You're gonna be just fine."
Juan tightened his grip around Graf’s trembling body, fumbled for his warpstone, his fingers slick with Graf's blood, and teleported them both to his room.
He half-carried, half-dragged Graf the few steps from the waystone to his bed and carefully placed him on his stomach on top of the covers. Graf let out a weak groan as his chest hit the mattress, blood immediately pooling down and soaking into the sheets. Juan paid it no mind.
"Fuck, fuck, shit," Juan muttered, getting up and rushing over to his bathroom to grab a fresh towel. He ran back to Graf and quickly folded it, pressing it firmly against the wound to stop the bleeding. He was panicking, but he did his best to recall how to take care of an open wound. He's had some previous experience, after all.
He glanced up and saw Graf’s eyes fluttering closed, his breathing turning ragged and shallow. An icy wave of dread crashed through Juan.
"Graf, don't fall asleep on me, okay? You need to stay awake. Talk to me."
Juan lightly slapped Graf’s cheek, just enough to get his attention. Graf’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, but he was still conscious. Barely. Juan’s stomach twisted at how pale he looked, how much blood he’d already lost. Juan needed to stop the bleeding; he needed to patch Graf up quickly.
"Can you hold the towel there for just a second? I'm gonna get some supplies. Tell me what happened in the meantime."
Graf weakly took over holding the towel, his hand trembling. Juan bolted to his drawers, frantically digging through them for his medkit. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely think straight.
"I… Multi put— a chip inside of me," Graf mumbled, his face half-buried in the pillow, voice slurred and thick with pain. "I had to get it out.” He sounded so broken, nothing like the usual Graf Juan knows and loves.
Juan froze in horror for half a second, but there was no time to break down. He shoved the panic aside, snatched the medkit, and sprinted back to Graf.
"A chip? What do you mean?”
"A— a chip,” Graf repeated, his breathing shallow. "He could control me with it. I’ve been feeling… something was off for days. But I wasn’t sure. Then in the Nether... I realized it, in the Nether. I had dreams of Multi… They helped me realize it… I remembered— He put the chip inside of me.”
Juan’s chest twisted painfully. He knew Multi couldn't be trusted; he even suspected there was something more sinister to his experiments, but chipping people? This was beyond anything he’d imagined.
"God, Graf…" he whispered.
Multi would pay for this. Juan didn't know how yet, but he would make sure of it. He wouldn't let anything bad happen to Graf again.
After a frantic search, Juan finally found the medkit and rushed back to Graf. He peeled the blood-soaked towel away, wincing at the sight of the wound. He cleaned it with antiseptic, and Graf hissed in pain at the contact. He put aside a healing potion for afterward. Healing potions were good, but they were only meant to serve as an aid in recovery. He would give it to Graf to make sure the wound didn't get infected, but it still needed to be stitched up. Juan was still going to have to do it himself.
"I know it stings, I'm sorry," he said apologetically, his voice soft with worry. "This is going to hurt even more. I'll try to be quick."
Graf nodded weakly against the pillow.
Juan forced his hands to stay steady in order to stitch the wound up. He had done this before — being in prison taught him a lot — but mostly on himself, and never on a wound this deep. Never on someone who mattered this much to him. He leaned over Graf's back and took a deep breath, wiped the cut with antiseptic, and got to work.
The first stitch was always the hardest. Juan pushed the curved needle through the torn skin. Graf’s entire body jerked, a choked groan escaping his throat. Juan’s chest tightened painfully at the sound.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, cariño," he said softly, focused on the wound. Graf tensed under his touch.
He worked in silence, checking if Graf didn't pass out in the meantime, but he was awake. The pain was keeping him awake, and as much as it hurt Juan to see him suffer, he was glad in that moment. He pulled the thread carefully, stitching the skin together. Graf was trembling underneath him, groaning in pain throughout the procedure. Juan could tell he tried to be strong, but it was hard for him.
"You're doing so good," he kept murmuring praises, trying to soothe Graf in any way he could. His only reply was Graf's whimpers. "You're handling it so well, I'm almost done, okay? Just a few more stitches."
Finally, after a few long minutes, the wound was closed up. Juan just sat there for a moment, staring at his work. The stitch wasn't as neat as it could have been, but it was good enough for now. The wound was no longer bleeding.
He let out a shaky breath and reached for the clean bandages. He wrapped them around Graf’s neck, so nothing would rub against the fresh stitches, doing his best to be gentle. Then, he walked over to the bathroom, grabbing a fresh towel and soaking it in warm water. He sat down next to Graf, who was observing his every move from half-lidded eyes. Juan noticed that his eyes were yellow. Have they always been yellow? No, that's not right — he distinctly remembered them being blue. He would have to ask Graf about it later, he had to take care of him now.
"Drink this potion now," he said, and he helped Graf sit up. He took the healing potion and pressed it to Graf's lips, tilting it gently in order to help him drink it. Graf just tiled his head back obediently and drank the potion slowly, a tiny bit of it spilled down his chin. He slumped back onto the mattress after he drank it all.
"Let me clean you up,” Juan said softly. "You don't need to do anything more, just stay still for me, okay?”
Graf gave a tiny, exhausted nod, eyes half-lidded. He started cleaning the dried blood from Graf's skin, patting it gently with the towel. He noticed Graf was still shaking, but not as much as before. He did his best to wipe as much of the blood as possible, pressing the towel against Graf's skin.
"How are you feeling?" Juan asked softly, his voice thick with concern. His heart was still pounding, his hands trembling just slightly as he hovered over Graf.
"Mmm, awful," Graf replied, voice barely above a whisper. He sounded so weak it made Juan’s heart ache. Juan had to fight the urge to pull him close and never let go.
He let out a relieved chuckle at the honest answer. It took away some of the tension he's been feeling. "Yeah, I bet.”
"But… better now,” Graf added after a moment. "I’m sorry I bled all over your bed. And your floor. And probably your art store as well…”
"Don’t be, idiot,” Juan said immediately, the fondness bleeding heavily into his tone. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from Graf’s sweaty forehead and cleaned his face with the towel.
"I really am sorry,” Graf mumbled again, sounding genuinely distressed, even in his exhaustion.
"I’ll forgive you if you get better,” Juan replied, trying to keep his voice light. "Really, Graf. I don't care about the bed or the floor; I can clean that too. Just focus on resting now."
A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the sound of Graf’s uneven breathing. Eventually, Juan couldn’t hold back; he had to ask. "Why didn’t you come to me in the first place? Or to anyone at all? Why did you try to do this by yourself?”
Graf looked up at Juan with a tired look in his eyes, but he didn't seem to feel guilty.
"Multi was already controlling me. I had to do this quickly. I— I don't know how much he knows already. I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it,” he said. "Especially not you. I didn't want to put you in any more danger than I already had."
Juan drew in a slow, shaky breath, fighting down the urge to argue.
"I would prefer to help you, dumbass. I don't care if it put me in danger. I would have helped."
"I know you would," Graf replied simply.
He shifted a little closer to Juan on the bed, pressing his face into the towel in Juan's hand. Juan's heart fluttered in his chest, and he suddenly felt the urge to hold Graf's face in his hands, not through the towel.
"This feels nice," Graf said, closing his eyes as Juan kept wiping the blood off. "You're so gentle."
"Yeah?" Juan said, a little amused. Graf was clearly exhausted. He made a small, pathetic little sound and shifted closer to Juan, barely conscious but still seeking his touch.
"Mhm," he mumbled. "Will you stay with me?"
Juan felt a wave of affection in his chest at Graf's plea. "Of course I will; I just need to finish cleaning you up. I'm almost done."
"You know," he started while he was wiping the blood off Graf's back now. "You really scared me tonight, showing up covered in blood like this."
"I'm—"
"Don't apologize," he interrupted before Graf had the chance to finish. "I just wish you would have come to me sooner. You know you can come to me with anything, right?"
Graf opened his eyes again, meeting Juan's gaze. They were undoubtedly yellow.
"I know. But as I said, I didn't want to put you in danger. I don't regret it," he said, and his eyes became blue again. Juan thought there was no point in continuing this conversation, so he decided to ask about it instead.
"Were your eyes always switching between yellow and blue like this? What is that?" Juan asked with curiosity.
"Oh, that…" Graf sounded almost shy. "They've always been like this since I was a kid. It happens when I'm concentrating or focusing on something."
"I think it's cool. It looks nice on you," Juan said fondly. Graf's cheeks turned a little pink at his words, and he made a soft, embarrassed noise. He looked away again. Juan only giggled and continued cleaning him up.
After a while, he finished wiping away the last traces of dried blood from Graf’s body. The towel in his hands was completely stained pink by now. He hated the fact that it was because of Graf's blood.
By then, Graf was barely awake. He looked completely exhausted, but so much better than when he showed up in Juan's art store half-dead from the blood loss. He never wanted to see Graf looking like that ever again. Multi will never hurt him again.
"There," Juan murmured, setting the towel aside. "All clean."
Graf hummed with appreciation.
"We can go to sleep now," Juan said.
"We?" Graf blinked slowly with visible confusion.
"I'm not letting you sleep alone after that," Juan replied, the words coming out firm and confident at first. The thought of leaving Graf’s side right now, even for a second, made his stomach twist with anxiety. Then, his confidence faltered a little. "If that's okay with you, of course."
Graf gave him a tiny smile and nodded. "Yeah, I would like that."
Juan felt something warm flutter in his chest. He helped Graf roll onto his side, then immediately climbed into bed beside him, carefully pulling the man against his chest without a second thought. He just needed to be as close to Graf as possible right now. One of his arms wrapped protectively around Graf’s waist, while the other was running through his hair, petting him like a cat. He never wanted to feel the way he felt when he saw Graf covered in blood just now. He gently cradled Graf into his arms.
Graf hummed happily at their newfound closeness. He nuzzled his cheek into Juan's chest, pressing into the spot below his collarbone. They lied like this for a while, until Graf's breathing evened out completely.
"Goodnight," Juan said quietly, but there was no reply. He looked down, only to find Graf already asleep.
Juan stayed awake for a long time, just looking at the man sleeping in his arms. He tried not to think about the blood that was no longer there.
After a while, he also fell asleep with Graf pressed closely to his chest, like he belonged there.