Our Truth

Our Truth (Part 3/3)
By Eline

Request fic: For subtextshowing, who wanted VallewidaXEvan.

Characters: Durer, Vallewida and Evan

Rating: NC-17 Actually, there’s no sex in this part. Really. So R for implied stuff.

Warnings: Non-consensual elements, implied violence, implied everything and the kitchen sink.

Spoilers: Some spoilers here for anyone who hasn't played the game.

* * * * * * * * * *

It had been like a nightmare from which he had not been able to wake up from.

Durer’s foul ministrations aside, there had been the complication of Evan’s presence. Vallewida had not defied Durer outright for months and the consequences made him go cold inside just thinking about it. The skin on his back had taken almost two weeks to heal--longer than other injuries that Vallewida would prefer not to think about.

Evan had been there. Dependable Evan. Always on hand to pick up the pieces after Durer was done.

Vallewida wished that Evan had not seen so many things, but the man had the curiosity of a dozen cats. It was going to get him killed one day. Everyone in the prison lived under a death sentence. It was a standard joke that the top three causes of death in the prison were, in increasing order of deadliness: malnutrition, disease and Durer.

They did not speak of it but they both knew what was coming at the end of Evan’s sentence. Bollanet would have Durer make certain arrangements, and Evan would end up as another victim of the many “accidents” that could happen in a prison. The prison cemetery contained many graves belonging to all the others who had tried to expose his wrongdoings or those who had merely been in the way.

It was a well-known fact that Durer positively relished the chance to do the deed himself most of the time. No, Durer did not need an excuse to rough Evan up.

Vallewida had tried so hard to avoid Durer after that and the head jailer seemed to have other things on his mind. Or perhaps Bollanet had cautioned his son about his excesses. The father shared the son’s perversions. One less toy for Durer was one less toy for Bollanet to play with after all.

But Durer had been biding his time. Waiting and watching like the obsessive maniac that he was. He had surprised Vallewida that day by waiting in his cell for him when he returned from dinner. Subdued after a short tussle, Vallewida had been more surprised when Durer had done nothing more than settle down to wait.

Of course it had boded ill for Evan, who had been helpfully returning library books for Vallewida all week. But he had not expected Durer to go that far. He had used the pistol again and Vallewida would have given anything to have blacked out by them. But he had held on to consciousness, refusing to leave. Because it would mean leaving Evan with Durer and God knew what could happen then.

So it had been the three of them there in that cell. Evan forced to rape him. Durer watching Evan fucking him. And himself, aware for the first time of what was being done.

The pain of the act was only eclipsed by the pain in his head--a white hot brand behind his eyeballs that felt dangerously close to erupting. All wrong . . . This had happened before . . . A friend--his best friend . . .

When it stopped, Vallewida was grateful to Durer--of all people--for sending Evan away so that he could stop resisting the darkness and let the blessed nothingness come when Durer started on him. But no, that was not right--Vallewida himself had sent Evan away . . .

And he had been left with one lingering thought: That it should not have been like this . . .

When Vallewida came to, he was tucked snugly in an infirmary bed. After being discharged the next day, he discovered that his cell had been tidied back up to a passable resemblance of its former condition. Evan had not forgotten to take the library books back to be returned.

Confronted by the sight of his books and papers neatly stacked up, Vallewida had forced himself to go down for dinner despite the soreness of his jaw--Durer’s handiwork again--and sat down next to Evan. As though nothing had happened. As though certain deeds had not been done and certain things had not been said.

Within a few days, they could speak without avoid each other’s eyes again.

But he could not help but feel that there had been something that had been broken beyond repair.

Perhaps there had been a method to Durer’s madness after all.

* * * * * * * * * *

Evan had almost ran out after that awful scene in Vallewida’s cell that night. Self-loathing was mild compared to what he had felt then. Durer and his filthy, polluting hands had marred one of the only things Evan had valued in this hellhole.

He had just lost a friend. He felt disgusting. Was this what Durer’s victims felt like all the time? Oh God was that blood on his trousers?

Shut back in his cell for the night, Evan had confirmed that, yes, there was blood on his trousers. He had just hurt a friend on top of everything else.

His conscience had needled him all through the night and Evan did not sleep a wink. He knew that he should check on Vallewida, but the thought of facing his friend after that . . .

Browbeaten by his own conscience, he had gone back to Vallewida’s cell in the morning to find Vallewida unconscious on the floor. The familiar routine of getting Vallewida to the infirmary was almost soothing. The doctor took over and Evan went back to work.

Guilt drove him to look in on Vallewida in the evening and to pick up some of the mess left by Durer in Vallewida’s cell. It was the least he could do now. That and return the library books.

Evan almost forgot to smile that day. The following day, Io noticed that he was less than his normal chipper self and Evan had to work doubly hard to compensate.

But the unexpected had happened at dinner. Vallewida had sat down next to him and there had been an awkward pause before the former soldier passed over his bread roll because he was not quite up to chewing solid food yet.

And it was somehow all right after that. Though not completely. Evan knew it would never be completely all right after what had happened.

That exhibition of Durer’s unsubtle possessiveness . . . It was a message that even a blind man could read. Private property. Hands off. This means you.

Evan might have laughed it off if not for the niggling feeling at the back of his mind that Durer was sometimes a lot sharper than he appeared, megalomania notwithstanding.

A great many inmates had thought that they were screwing because close friendships were the prison equivalent of “fuck buddies”. The strangest thing was, it would have been a great cover for their discussions of what Evan termed The Conspiracy if Durer had not been such a possessive asshole.

But their positions were clear now. The lines had been drawn. Vallewida knew this. Evan knew it. And Durer, damn him, probably knew it too.

* * * * * * * * * *

As the days and weeks wore on, Vallewida was somewhat glad of the daily grind of the prison. It helped to return the state of normalcy that they had lived with for years.

Durer would come after him for something. There would be a brief spell of memory loss. Evan would be around afterwards to cart him to the infirmary or patch him up.

In the weeks that followed the incident, Durer had found it amusing to goad him by suggesting frequently that Evan might like to join them. Or threatening to call Evan in when Vallewida was being particularly stubborn. And Vallewida had caved. Every. Single. Time.

Durer got tired of it eventually. As long as Evan was keeping a low profile, the head jailer would have little or no issues with him. Vallewida breathed easier for it and things went back to the way they were.

A long time ago, or so it seemed, Evan had been interested in Vallewida’s case because Bollanet had been involved somehow.

Evan had a bone to pick with the corrupt minister, though he never said it out loud. But Vallewida knew certain things. Knew about his lawyer friend outside and the miscarriage of justice that had landed Evan in prison. Knew that no-one could be that cheerful after so long in this hellhole after what had happened to him just before . . . And he knew why younger prisoners like Io triggered the protective instinct in Evan.

But if Evan knew that Vallewida knew that much, it was not a common feature of their conversations. At least not the ones they had in public. One never knew who was listening to random conversations around here.

After a few years, it seemed normal. Their strange friendship based on their connection to Bollanet. The shared knowledge that one of them might die first at Durer’s hands. The occasional lost causes . . .

“You’d think that there was an increase in juvenile crime,” Evan said, sighting along the line of prisoners. “Hey, there’s the new boy. Your neighbour?”

Vallewida nodded. The new boy--he looked dreadfully young to be in the prison. But there had been younger men who had entered the gates and died before they pasted their first year. “He arrived yesterday.”

“Better make sure he doesn’t run afoul of Jose so soon,” Evan continued. There was so little room for pity here, but Evan always tried. Vallewida did not doubt that the boy had already experienced Durer, but there were lesser predators to be wary of within these walls.

“Ah. He made it through the first evening without running into Jose’s welcoming party,” Vallewida said. Yes, the boy probably reminded Evan of his younger brother.

“Great--now all he has to do is survive the workroom. I’ll do my best,” Evan said cheerfully. Do his best to help others because there was nothing more either of them could do here. Nothing he could do to help Vallewida or himself.

Evan could see Vallewida watching him out of the corner of his eye and he smiled again. It was not an obviously fake smile this time as he got up to join the rest of the crowd. Vallewida returned it briefly before consigning it to the back-room of memory.

And there it would remain, like all the other things left unsaid between them.

* * * * * * * * * *

Note of the day (with added spoilers):
And that was my interpretation of why Evan and Vallewida aren’t a canon couple in the game even though they seem rather compatible (so much for being more attracted to people you are in closer physical proximity to). The LuscaXEvan was a major cock-block. Even more so Vallewida’s Amazing Heterosexual Past (TM).

i.e.: This is Enzai, everyone and their relationships are effing screwed up. Please leave normalcy at the gate or have it raped away by Durer.