You will find crossovers in many of my submissions. You will also find many OCs and AU versions of superheroes and all my fics are based on the premise that there exists a multiverse with multiple versions of everyone and every Earth.
This is just a one-shot I made up for the hell of it. It doesn't actually fit into the the general world I've built around my non-canon versions of characters and my original charaters.
Terry McGinnis (the serial killer)
Valerie Silverson (an innocent version of Copycat)
The rain is heavy on the high Gotham roof.
She's lying on the ground; a knife protruding from her gut and a blood-pool growing at her back. The pain cuts like daggers through her mind, slicing all thoughts of healing from it.
A man looms in the darkness.
"So," she heaves. "You finally got me." Exhausted, she can barely keep conscious, let alone close the wound.
"We'll see," he says. "You seem to have a knack for getting out of this. This time, I'm gonna watch you die!"
She coughs. Her head slides to the side, her neck too weak to keep it facing toward him. Should I tell him? Will it do any good?
"You're not very talkative." His voice is stern but calm, belying the rage bubbling inside him. He kneels beside her.
"Trying to figure out how to beat," he yanks out the six-inch blade, "me?"
The pain quickly bleeds into vague coldness, releasing her voice again. "I know I can't get away. But you see," she coughs, "that's the thing. I'm not the first to fall to you."
He's taken aback. Not the first? How-? There is only one Copycat...right?
He rises, escaping her spell and shakes off the confusion and doubt. That's impossible, I know it was her every time. I took her life and somehow she returned again to haunt me. There is only one! She's probably lying. Lying to trick me into sparing her evil, twisted life!
"Terry?" Her eyes stare weakly into his.
Their softness seems almost alien to her amber eyes. He narrows his. "What?"
"Don't do this."
He laughs, his head thrown back.
"Copycat, you know better than to plead with me. When you took me, you showed no mercy. And neither will I!"
Her eyes slide off toward the rain again. Dying in the rain, she thinks, it's disturbingly peaceful, not bad.
"What are you thinking about, Copycat?" He has knelt beside her head; his hand, almost longingly, caressing her face. It seems to pain him.
"How beautiful the rain is," she manages to choke out. Talking is getting more difficult, practically impossible.
"Liar!" He slaps her face and turns to pace again.
"Uh!" The recoil unleashes a new wave of pain from her side.
"Why do you continue to torment me?!" His pace is very angry now. "You're dying! You've lost! Why are you still trying to hurt me?" his voice weakened terribly at the end. Tears leak from his eyes.
God, she thought, I'm dying, and I feel pity for him. That's bad. I had no idea she hurt him that much.
He is sitting on the ground now, his face buried in his hands; the dagger long forgotten a few feet away. He must have dropped it before he collapsed.
Some time passed. The rain softened. Keeping her eyes open took too much effort, so she stopped trying. Meanwhile, he sobbed quietly in the distance.
Eventually, "Are you dead yet?"
His voice is filled with confidence and loathing again. Like his breakdown never even happened.
Not again. Great, she thought, if I don't speak, he's probably gonna hurt me. A weak laugh escapes her. Probably? Definitely.
"Was that a laugh?" he asks accusingly, as he advances on his victim/imagined tormentor. All she could do was nod. Denying it would lead to more pain, but to admit to it? It might give him pause, hopefully long enough to...
"-I can't believe you're still trying to get to me". His words aren't venomous anymore. Instead he is defiant. "Well, it's not gonna work. It's over. You are dead, and I am alive. You've lost. Accept it."
If that were really true, she could die willingly; happily; noblely. But she is not Copycat. Copycat is not defeated and Terry is the real threat now. He sees her everywhere now. It will never be over.
Suddenly the darkness overcomes her; a peaceful quilt, wrapping her consciousness in the inviting nothingness.
He checks her, turns, and walks away.
The rain is heavy on the high Gotham roof.