AN: hi! happy monday!

so the trigger warning list is extensive bc i'm genuinely not sure if half of them fit but i'd rather be safe than sorry, and even then they're not mentioned in much detail? i'm probs overthinking but oh well lmao

tw:
murder
mentions of rape and torture
blood and gore
guns
dead bodies
suicidal ideations
rampant daddy issues
mentions of stalking
hospitals/medical procedures

i hope you guys enjoy and i'll see you in a week! <3

•

"i am the shape you made me, filth teaches filth." - sophokles

•

The dark was almost suffocating in the woods. Branches hung over them like hands of marble reaching to carve the life out of their chests, and the growls of the animals lurking in the shadows echoed through the air in harmonised lilts with the whistling wind.

It was enough to make a grown man quake in fear as if the tectonic plates under his feet were shifting to divide the land into two and put distance between one hell on earth to the next.

Yet, the grown man was not quaking in fear, because he was not really a man at all. He was a monster; a predator on the hunt for his prey; a self declared judge of life and death seeking to inflict a lifetime of pain and suffering; a huntsman spider desperate to encapsulate his victims in his web once more with binding chains of iron and manipulation.

Elliot Milner held the gun in one hand, held a torch in the other. His feet pounded against the dirt beneath him, the dirt a child would soon bleed out into. He weaved through protruding tree roots and prickling branches carving grooves deep into his bare arms.

He could not deny the panic coursing through his veins. They had stopped playing his game, had tried to escape after he was so convinced they would not. He had convinced himself they would trust him.

They'd had such a nice day together celebrating their birthdays. He had baked them a cake and everything! He'd gone to such effort to give his daughter a gift she would always remember, something of him that she could never rid herself of, and she threw it back in his face by betraying him, by tricking the boy to betray him, too.

No, she had ruined everything. She was her mother's daughter more than she was his, and he hated her for it as much as he loved her despite it. She couldn't have handled this with grace, no, and now Elliot had to play the hero and save what he could of the family he had built, even if it meant the boy had to die.

And, even if it would kill Elliot to lose the closest victim that bore a resemblance to his stepson, Dylan Hart was going to die like all of the other boys did. It was Isobel that had to survive. It was Isobel that Elliot had wanted more than anyone, needed more than anything.

She was brave to fight, Elliot had to admit, but this was necessary. The boy had to die, and Isobel needed to learn her lesson.

Dylan Hart ran through the trees ahead of Elliot, chest burning for air he could not inhale fast enough. His entire body ached from two months of torture, beatings, rape, but he did not stop. He did not stop because he was not the only person running away from Elliot and grasping for what was left of their life.

Isobel.

It was always Isobel. She'd been a permanent fixture in Dylan's mind for as long as he could remember. She'd been there for every milestone. They took their first steps together, to each other. They'd learnt how to ride a bike together. They'd learnt how to swim together, how to climb to the tops of the trees and look up at the stars.

They'd learnt that nothing in the world could destroy the bond the two of them shared; not chains, not fathers, and not a death that Dylan knew was creeping up behind him.

He was going to die, and Dylan was well aware of that. He'd almost accepted it as soon as Isobel decided to leave the basement, after what Elliot had done to her. Maybe if he'd stayed, he would've lived, but Dylan wasn't going to let her go out in these woods alone.

Wherever she'd go, he would follow. She was his home, and he was hers.

All he wanted was for Isobel to be free. If he had to pay the price with his own life, so be it. One of them would die tonight, and he would rather it be him.

He was her best friend, older by a matter of minutes, and he was the one supposed to protect her. He'd promised Olivia that he would keep Izzy safe and out of trouble when she'd left for college, and he intended to take that promise to his grave.

The first gunshot rang through Dylan's ears before he registered the pain in his lower back over his hip. He stumbled at the pain, grunts falling from his lip as he forced himself to keep going.

Isobel turned, forest green eyes finding ocean blue, and then those eyes found Dylan's hands clutching his side where crimson blood leaked through his fingers from the gunshot.

Dylan couldn't speak through the pain and the lack of air in his body, but he didn't stop running, even as Isobel slowed down. He grabbed her hand with his, his blood sticky as it smeared against her skin, but he tangled their fingers together and dragged her with him, again.

The second gunshot hurt more.

His knees gave out from under him, Isobel wrapping her arms around him to drag him back up. Dylan yelped in pain, shaking his head quickly as he tried to shove her away from him.

"Go!" Dylan hissed, glancing over his shoulder. "Before he kills you, too!"

They both knew he wouldn't kill Isobel, but Dylan didn't want her to see him die.

Whistling rattled through the trees, drowning out Dylan's ragged breaths as he sank into the dirt. Isobel sank down beside him, gathering him in her arms and pulling him so he was laying in her lap, her knotted hair forming a shield around them, so that it was just the two of them.

Blue burned into green. Bloodstained fingers cupped blue-tinged cheeks, brushing thumbs over dirty skin. The stars and moonlight cast shadows upon childish features, ragged breaths rasping through blood bubbled against chapped lips.

"Izzy," Dylan gasped out, hand coming up to grab at her wrist.

Isobel moved her hand to tangle their fingers together, squeezing three times in a row as she leaned down, resting her forehead against his.

"I love you," Isobel whispered through her tears. "I love you, so much. To the moon and Saturn."

"I love you," Dylan whispered. "To the moon and Saturn."

Isobel glanced up, the guilt sinking in her stomach as the whistling got louder. Elliot was walking towards them, spinning the gun in his hand as he shined the flashlight on their faces.

"He's coming," Isobel whispered.

"Run-"

"I'm not leaving you."

Dylan knew he wouldn't convince her. He didn't want to, truthfully.

"I'm sorry," Isobel whispered, her tears dripping onto his cheeks.

Dylan shook his head, pulling her down into their first and last kiss. They could taste blood, his blood, and tears, her tears, but it was entirely theirs. There would never be anything like this kiss to happen to either of them again.

"At least I'm with you," Dylan whispered, staring into her eyes as Elliot's footsteps got closer. "From the very start of our lives," he breathed, "To the very end of mine. Me and you, forever."

"Me and you, forever," Isobel whispered.

Isobel kept her eyes on Dylan, even as she pulled her face back from his. He winced as he bled out in her lap, head hanging over the side of her thighs.

The chamber of the gun pointed at his forehead, the bullet ready to fire, and Isobel held Dylan's gaze as he held hers. Neither looked away, not even as the trigger was pulled.

"Lilah?"

Isobel looked up in confusion, searching for Liv, because that was Liv's voice, but Liv wasn't here. She could see the glow of someone's eyes staring at her through the trees, but they weren't Liv's eyes. They made her feel wrong when they stared at each other and, for a moment, Isobel felt more fear at whatever was lurking in those trees than she did for her own father.

Elliot stared down at Isobel with disgust on his face. He raised the gun, moving his finger to the trigger.

"I should've done this before you could grow up to do the same," he uttered.

Isobel

He pulled the trigger.

Isobel's body slumped back into the dirt, head reeling as pain rippled through her nerves. Her eyes fluttered shut, warm blood soaking into her skin as the bullet in her brain took the last of any life Isobel Milner had.

•

•

"Lilah, it's Liv. Open your eyes for me, my sweet girl. It's time to wake up."

Delilah could feel hands against her skin over the pain aching through her skull. Her body twitched as her consciousness swam back to her, left eye blinking open slowly while her right eye remained glued shut from the blood.

Liv.

Liv was above her, tears streaming from bloodshot eyes, cheeks more hollow than they'd been the last time they were together.

Liv was here. She was in the basement.

She was in the basement.

"Hey," Liv whispered, moving slightly to the side with a teary smile.

Delilah just stared blankly up at Liv, head still reeling from the bullet in her brain, but there couldn't be a bullet in her brain because she was alive, because Liv didn't seem overly panicked considering everything.

Her mind had played another trick on her with her nightmare, and she knew it was the first of so many yet to try and destroy her.

She was alive. She'd survived.

Delilah, hand on heart, wished she'd died with Elliot.

"Lilah? Come on, sweetheart, it's me," Liv whispered. "It's just Liv."

It was just Liv.

It was Liv, and Liv had found her in the basement. Liv had found her. Ziggy had found them, and he'd brought them back to save her.

"Livy?" Delilah mumbled through blood-stained lips. "Livy?"

"Yeah," Liv smiled, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's Livy, baby. You're safe, okay? I got you."

Delilah's eye filled with tears, a hiss of pain slipping from her lips as she tried to sit up. Liv shook her head, holding Delilah's shoulders gently as she helped her ease herself up.

"Careful," Liv whispered. "Nice and slow, okay? The medics are on their way, and we're gonna take you to a hospital and check you out. You're gonna be okay. I've got you."

"An- And Ziggy?" Delilah whispered.

"He's right outside with Colin," Liv assured her. "He's okay. You saved him, Lilah. I'm so proud of you."

Delilah collapsed into Liv's arms, burying her face in Liv's neck despite the aches in her bones. Liv held onto Delilah as tight as she could without hurting her, rocking her gently from side to side as she ran her hands over blood-stained hair.

"I've got you," Liv whispered, pressing a kiss to Delilah's temple. "I've got you, baby."

Delilah nodded, clinging to her sister desperately.

"I love you. I love you," Liv whispered.

"I love you," Delilah whispered back.

She pulled back after a moment, wincing as she tried to wipe her tears with her swollen hands.

The chains were gone.

Delilah did a double take, looking around with wide eyes.

There was Dave, watching them from behind Liv with his usual smile on his face, though it lacked the usual joy in his eyes. There was Hotch, rare tears on his cheeks as he stared at Delilah with something in his eyes that she was too exhausted to figure out, but she knew it wasn't pity.

There was Emily, the only one not looking at Delilah. Instead, she crouched down beside Dylan's bones, with her gloved hands holding Elliot's mask from when he'd tossed it off after Delilah cut into his eye with it.

There was Derek, stood at the foot of Elliot's corpse with his eyes darting between Delilah and her father. She couldn't hold his gaze for more than a second once she caught sight of the pity and almost disgust in his eyes.

She didn't know if the disgust was because of what she had done, or because of what her father had done. She didn't suppose there was much difference between them, after all. They were both murderers, now.

Though, she did feel slightly victorious when she recalled pounding Elliot's head into nothing. They no longer shared the resemblance he'd been aiming for when maiming her face. The only other living person that knew about the truth of this wound was Ziggy, and he likely wasn't going to talk about this for a long time.

Her father's blood would be her blood until they were both rotting in the ground, but she no longer wore his face. His face no longer existed in anything but memories, nightmares, and photographs.

And then Delilah realised the final person in the room with her.

It wasn't Spencer, it wasn't Ziggy, and it wasn't Colin or Nora.

It was JJ.

JJ was staring at her, tears in her eyes and keys to the chains held tightly in shaky hands. JJ had seen what Delilah had done. They'd all seen what Delilah had done. But there wasn't disgust in JJ's eyes. There wasn't pity, or grief, or even anger.

"Hi, baby," JJ whispered. "I'm so happy to see you."

It was happiness.

Despite... Well, everything, JJ was happy to see Delilah.

Or maybe it was relief that she had survived, because the weak smile on her lips was fading the more Delilah stayed silent and stared at her.

She'd hallucinated JJ, and JJ was here, right now, in the flesh.

Delilah moved on instinct, knees and chest aching as she moved across the floor. JJ dropped the keys she was holding, almost bracing herself. Delilah stopped just in front of her, frowning as she studied JJ's face.

She wasn't afraid of her, no. It was more like she was cautious of Delilah, like touching her might shatter her into pieces.

It was already starting. They were already acting differently around her.

"Medics are here," Hotch said. "Let's get you to the hospital, Lilah. You need to be checked out."

Delilah nodded, sucking in a painful breath as she tried to stand up on shaky legs. JJ's arms shot out instinctively, grabbing gently onto Delilah's arms to help her up.

"Take it easy, honey," JJ whispered, stroking her thumbs over Delilah's forearms. "Nice and slow, yeah?"

Delilah nodded, moving her arms to grab JJ's hands. JJ smiled, a real smile, and tangled their fingers together. Even with the blood staining Delilah's skin, the metaphorical and physical blood, JJ didn't flinch.

And, considering just seconds ago, Delilah had been convinced JJ was treating her differently, it felt like it was how they always were, right now. Maybe JJ was just scared because Delilah probably looked like death right now and this was such an overwhelming situation if you weren't used to this kind of thing.

JJ wasn't even a field agent. Of course this was insane for her, right now.

"Come on, Lilah," Liv's voice came from behind them. "Let's get you upstairs. Ziggy's desperate to see you."

Delilah's eyes widened slightly.

She'd almost forgotten about Ziggy in the chaos. She knew he'd been safe because Liv and the team were here, but she hadn't even thought about seeing him again, yet.

Delilah moved towards the stairs instinctively, JJ hurrying along with her so Delilah didn't collapse at the sudden movements. And then Delilah stopped at the top of the stairs, because the cabin hadn't changed at all.

Actually, that was a lie.

It had changed slightly.

Delilah walked across the room slowly, eyes searching over the photographs of herself covering an entire wall in a shrine. There were photos from birth until now. Even in the years they were separated, there were photos of her in California, at Harvard, even some at Gideon's cabin over the years.

"Lilah, come on, sweet girl," Liv tried, walking towards her and JJ.

Maybe Elliot wasn't lying when he said he'd microchipped her, because this was clear evidence he'd known exactly where she was at any given moment, except for the years in Thailand, but he'd still known she was out of the country.

She hadn't had any idea he was basically stalking her. She needed to move apartments immediately, even if Elliot was dead.

"Lilah?" Liv said gently. "Ziggy's waiting."

Delilah blinked out of her trance, turning immediately and glancing around for the way out. Derek was stood beside a smashed window, and Delilah quickly hurried over with JJ's hand still in hers.

"Careful, honey," JJ said softly.

Delilah didn't listen. She should've, but she clambered through that window with energy she didn't know she still had, eyes searching for the mop of black hair she'd grown accustomed to in the past three weeks.

And there he was: Ziggy Roberts, stood beside a hulking beast of a dog, Colin holding him up by the waist, tears streaming down his filthy cheeks as he stared at his aunt.

"Lilah?" Ziggy whispered, staggering forward slowly. "Lilah?"

"Hey, kid," Delilah whispered, a genuine smile spreading across her face, even as she felt the wounds on her face tug painfully. "You made it."

Ziggy stumbled forward and into her. Delilah wrapped her arms tightly around him, resting her head against his hair as she rocked them gently from side to side despite the pain coursing through her body. She looked over, seeing Liv was watching them with a teary smile from beside Emily and Dave, medics hovering around the rest of the team.

Delilah nodded, and Liv walked over, carefully joining the hug so she didn't startle Ziggy. He didn't seem to care, moving an arm to wrap around Liv, too.

Delilah just held onto them, held onto the only blood members of her family that she had left, even as her father's blood stained her skin and coursed through her veins. Her head spun, grip loosening on her family.

"I'm sorry," Delilah mumbled, and the world went dark around her.

•

•

Delilah was in the hospital when she came to, again. She was in a patient room; an IV wedged into her vein, heart monitor clamped to her fingertip, pain meds burning through her system. She was surrounded by doctors and nurses, taking DNA swabs from her for evidence, stitching up the wound on her thigh, stitching the wound on her face, resetting dislocated knuckles, taping broken fingers to unbroken ones, looking at x-rays of broken ribs, so on and so forth.

Honestly, Delilah didn't care. She felt numb as these people fawned around her, their questions falling on deaf ears because Delilah just could not process the fact that this was happening again.

She was just glad Liv must be with Ziggy, or that she wasn't allowed in the room yet, because Delilah could dissociate happily in private without worrying Liv more.

She wasn't even thinking of anything in particular. She was alive, and that was too fucking overwhelming for her to think about because she could hear that voice in the back of her head telling her that she should've died in that basement, that it would've been for the better.

Delilah had heard that voice in the back of her head for most of her life, for as long as she could remember, even before her mom died. It didn't wish death upon her at that age, but it had only gotten nastier and meaner as time passed, as Isobel became Delilah, as Delilah became Alia, as Alia became Delilah once more, as Delilah was stitched bloodily back into Isobel's skin and torn out of it just as fast.

Only now did Delilah realise that the voice belonged to herself. She'd always known how to break her own heart. It ran deep through every version of herself that she'd ever been. It was everything Delilah hated about herself, but it was herself.

Delilah hated who she was. She hated herself with every aching and shattered bone in her body, with every ounce of her father's blood in her veins, with every beat of her heart that declared her survival to the world, to that voice in the back of her head, to the crowds of people just waiting for her to fall further from grace than she already had.

Yet, finally, the suturing needles moved away from her body, the nurses throwing them in the trash bin with the masses of blood-stained wipes from giving Delilah the best wipe down they could while doing intake of her wounds.

She would be allowed to shower, soon, to get the dirt and blood off, because the doctor still in the room remarked that, somehow, her thigh wound was not infected, and only four of her homemade stitches had torn, so, the wound was just that; a wound.

It would scar, but Delilah could cover that. It was her face she was worried about.

"Now, I've already spoken to your sister, and she said she has a plastic surgeon that could look at your face for you," the doctor said, looking up from her clipboard. "However, there are signs of an infection, so, any cosmetic procedures will have to wait until the infection is cleared and the wound is starting to heal. We've also given you antibiotics for the infection."

Delilah nodded slowly, staring blankly at the woman now she could open both of her eyes again. She wasn't blind, but she could feel the stitches just above her eyelid and it was unnerving to know that his mark on her was something she could not see unless confronted with her own reflection.

Though, he hadn't cared about her seeing it. It was everybody else he wanted to see it. Now he was dead, now Delilah had beaten his skull into a pulp, nobody except Ziggy would ever know why he gave it to her, that he wanted them to match their appearances to show she was his daughter through and through.

"Agent Bellerose," the doctor said gently, "I'm sorry to have to ask you this. Is there any way you could be pregnant?"

Delilah's insides ached at the thought.

"No," Delilah said. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" the doctor said gently.

"Well, considering I was unconscious most of the time, I can't be entirely sure, can I?" Delilah snarked, voice cracking at the pain in her throat from her throat being temporarily crushed with a chain.

There it was; the anger. It had bubbled up faster than Delilah had expected. She hated being treated like a victim more than anything in the world, except, she didn't hate it more than anything in the world, because the first place on that list was reserved for hating herself.

This was a close second. Everybody crept around her like she would shatter and break and, sure, she knew that this was a disaster situation to be in for everybody involved, but she had spent sixteen years of her life trying to erase Isobel, only for that to come and smack her and her entire team in the face.

Elliot had said they'd seen the tape. Delilah didn't doubt him. They'd also seen the massacre Delilah had committed. They knew everything, and she wanted to hate them for it, but she hated herself before she could ever hate the team.

She just wanted a normal life. Why could she not have that in any way?

"Wouldn't you be able to tell from my labs, anyway? Pregnancy causes a rise in hormones," Delilah rasped.

"It does, but those hormones can be debilitated if there's an excessive use of chloroform in the system, which there was," the doctor said. "Agent Bellerose, I don't mean to cause offence. I know this is a-"

"Sensitive situation," Delilah finished.

"Yeah," the doctor sighed. "I'm sorry."

Delilah hated people saying they were sorry about her trauma. It didn't do anything but make Delilah feel guilty for making them feel as if they had to apologise to her for her suffering.

"We have options-" the doctor started.

"Just-" Delilah cut herself off. "I'm not having any children. Make sure it stays that way, please."

The doctor nodded.

"Of course. I'll be back shortly. Your nephew will be allowed to see you once he's had his ankle put in a cast, and your sister is with him. There is a blonde woman waiting outside the room, if you want me to send her in?" the doctor said.

JJ.

"No," Delilah said, shaking her head as she leaned back against the pillows. "I just want to go home."

"We can talk about that later. You need some rest," the doctor said gently, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Delilah stared at the door for a moment, forcing herself to suck in a shaky breath as her eyes then moved to glance around the hospital room.

It was clean. It was too clean, and she felt too dirty. Her skin crawled with her father's touches, with his blood, with her blood, and she wanted to scrub her skin in the shower until it was red raw with the hope of redemption through the act of cleansing herself from the sins of her father that she had inherited unwillingly.

But her father's blood would always be her blood until they were both rotting in the ground, and Delilah could not outrun him. She'd never been able to outrun him.

Whether she liked it or not, it was because of her father that she was everything she was today. Cursed blood only bred cursed blood. Chaotic desires spread through children's bones like marrow. Cruel hands forged nothing but cruel hands, and the cycle continued.

Delilah continued the cycle. She was her father's daughter, like he was his father's son before him. His father was dead. Her father was dead.

Delilah would be dead, one day, too, and their bloodline would end with her. It had to end with her, or they'd never break the cycle.

Delilah got to her feet, wincing slightly at the ache in her muscles from moving, and looked down at the IV in her arm, the heart monitor on her finger. She knew better than to take them off, as it would set an alarm off to the nurses and they'd come running thinking she was dying.

So, she pressed the nurses button on the wall, pacing as far as she could without tearing the medical equipment off her body.

"Agent Bellerose?" a nurse knocked, pushing the door open to poke his head inside.

"Can you take these things off me so I can get a shower?" Delilah rasped.

"We should finish the bag to help hydrate you, and you have several broken ribs-" he started.

"I'm covered in my father's blood and brains," Delilah said quietly. "I haven't showered in almost three weeks. I'm covered in dirt, and germs, and I feel disgusting. I need a shower."

"Yeah, okay," he whispered. "I'll grab some clean clothes for you, and then take the IV off. You have to finish the bag when you come back."

"Thank you," Delilah sighed, rubbing her uninjured cheek.

Ten minutes later, she was finally alone in the bathroom. The door was not locked, as a safety protocol, but she was alone. She was alone with a mirror for the first time since it had happened.

Her face was mutilated.

Well, maybe she was being dramatic, but it wasn't fucking pretty. Even though it had been wiped clean several times and was probably the cleanest part on her body right now, it looked disgusting.

The cut was longer than she'd realised, and thicker, and had a light coating of some antiseptic cream to help the budding infection clear up. It started about half an inch away from her hairline, sliced clean through her eyebrow, missed her eyelid, but started again just underneath her eyelashes and got wider as it veered slightly inwards towards the corner of her lip.

Initially, she had expected it to go to her nose, but she had been high on chloroform when he did it, and the memory was a blur now when she tried to remember how he'd done it. All she could remember was the point of the knife hovering millimetres above her eye.

She wouldn't be able to get cosmetic surgery to hide this until the infection was cleared and, even then, there wouldn't be much Jace could do to make it bearable to look at. Though, she wasn't a doctor herself, so, she'd have to get Liv to confirm her suspicions that a coverup of the scar may just make it more obvious and noticeable.

Her throat was bad, too. The skin was swollen in deep purple and blue hues from where Elliot had tried to choke her with the chains. She could see the individual chains staining her skin, and there were matching wounds on her wrists and ankles.

JJ's necklace looked out of place against the deep bruises, so Delilah winced through the ache in her broken knuckles to unclip it and drop it on the counter so she couldn't tarnish it with her trauma anymore.

Delilah stared at herself in the mirror, her father's eyes staring back at her. She tilted her head to the side, seeing the familiarity in the gesture that she'd clearly inherited.

She'd inherited his rage, too. It was overkill, what she'd done to him. It was pure rage. She could've stopped and let him die from his wounds, but he had to open his fucking mouth. He had to have the last word, had to remind her that she would always belong to him.

Delilah chewed on the inside of her cheek, exhaling shakily.

She was supposed to be the exception to the rule, to her genetics. She was supposed to rise above what her father had done, and she had for a while. Now, though, she'd pushed it too far. She held a grudge and it had torn her apart, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Her kingdom was nothing but ash, smoke, and ruins. She hid behind walls of regret, unable to look upon her throne of lies now that she had been exposed for what she was. The blood of the innocents stained her guilty hands more than ever, and the blood of the guilty joined it, too.

She was a monster. They would all look at her like she was a monster. They loved her, but how could any of them ever have loved her if they had never even knew her? How quickly would they turn and hate her when they realised that her castle had crumbled to the ground?

She had ruined everything, again.

Elliot didn't need to kill Delilah, this time around. She had done a perfectly good job at doing it all by herself.

•