Title: No Vacancy in Paradise
Gen/Het/Slash: Gen
Parings: None
Genre: Post S7
Story Warnings: Murder, violence, language

Summary: Things have happened over the years. People have died. Friends have died. And Xander has steeled himself against it all, hunting demons and vampires under the name of Deathbringer. But now…now answers have started to arise about things that have happened. And nothing will stop him from hunting those answers down.

Disclaimer: Written for the Dark Xander Ficathon on Livejournal. Don't own characters or anything relating to them.

Chapter 2

"Please...oh God, please, don't kill me!"

"Shh," said Deathbringer, placing the barrel of his 9mm Glock against the forehead of the quivering lump of flesh at his feet. He hadn't bothered to remember the name of the wretch - after all, the man probably wouldn't be alive long enough to use it much longer. "Stop whining and I'll consider it."

"Oh thank you!" exclaimed the man, fleshy jowls shuddering. "Thank you, thank you...ugh!"

"Stop thanking me."

"Y-yes."

Deathbringer smiled – a grim grin that bore only passing resemblance to an actual smile – and said, "Now you're going to tell me everything that you know about the death of Rupert Giles."

The lump of flesh went pasty white at that and started to quiver again, eyes bugging out of his head. He shook his head frantically, stammering, "N-n-no, I can't! They'll kill me!"

Glock met forehead once again and Deathbringer crouched down so his face was close to the wretch's.

"If you don't tell me, I'll kill you."

"B-but you said..."

He pushed the barrel of the Glock hard against the wretch's forehead, causing him to cry out in pain.

"I said I wouldn't kill you if you stopped whining. I said nothing about not killing you if you didn't tell me what I wanted to know."

The lump quivered then nodded limpy, jowls shaking. "O-okay, okay," he stammered. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything."

Deathbringer bared his teeth in a feral grin at that and holstered his Glock, not moving another inch besides that.

"Start talking," he growled. "I've got places to be."

"P-people to k-kill?" said the wretch, seeming to gain a bit of courage.

A sole hazel eye turned towards the lump with a cold gaze and the courage fled with its tail between its legs. The lump of nameless flesh started stammering out his story then, helped in continuing on when he paused by the Glock coming out and being checked over in slow, practiced motions. He told everything he knew - Deathbringer could tell thanks to his one mystical trick that it was the truth - and then lay in a harshly breathing mass on the floor.

Slowly rising, he went over everything he'd been told in his head...the names...the places...the planning process. He had a lot now.

But he still didn't have the reason why. And that was what he wanted most.

"The information is appreciated, wretch," said Deathbringer coldly, snapping off the safety on his Glock. He turned and aimed the barrel at the still lump's feet and fired, sending blood, skin, and bone up in a small cloud of destruction. The man on the floor screamed in pain and tried to inch away from him but, with all of his fat, he couldn't make it very far.

"Y-y-you s-said y-you'd sp-spare m-m-me," stammered the lump of flesh despite the intense pain that must have been radiating from his foot.

The one-eyed man shrugged casually, as though they were having no more than a simple conversation, and said, "I lied." He then shifted the aim of the Glock's barrel and another gunshot rang out, this one leaving a hole in the center of the lump's forehead.

Deathbringer turned before the corpse had even started to cool and left, mind going through all of the information he'd just received as he pushed open the door of the pawnshop the corpse had owned.

Somebody with magic had wanted Giles dead – had succeeded in getting their wish too. And there was one still living person that he knew that might just be able to tell him who it could have been.

Deathbringer grinned and climbed into his car, ignoring the sirens wailing from blocks away – cops coming to respond to the gunshots in the pawnshop. He had a new meeting to set up with somebody from his past…one of the few still living.

Now the big question was if Ethan Rayne was still in military custody like he'd been the last time he'd checked on the Chaos mage or if he'd made his escape again. Chances were, the latter of the two was probably the truth.

---

"Well," said Deathbringer as he looked at his dirty, meager surroundings before turning back to the man slumped over a small table with a bottle of scotch, "I never expected to find you in this kind of squabble. Looks like you've fallen far."

Ethan Rayne lifted his head wearily from the table and stared drunkenly at him for a moment. Then he pushed himself partially upright and managed to speak in a voice that didn't make him seem drunk at all.

"It's a far cry upwards from where you've fallen. White Knight."

The bane of the Watcher's Council jerked at that and loosed a low, angry snarl as he stormed forward to stand at the other side of the table. He drew his 9mm in a smooth motion and planted the end of the barrel against Ethan's forehead, who didn't flinch at all at the motion.

"You be careful about what you say, mage," growled Deathbringer. "I've got a real itchy trigger finger tonight. Already killed one person…won't give me one damn nightmare to kill another."

Ethan smirked a bit at that and said, "Well, well, so the rumors are true. The puppy's all grown up and gotten himself some fangs." He then glanced at the gun and stated, "By the way, the safety's still on."

"That's because I want some information out of your worthless ass before I kill you."

"Oh, I see. Information on…dear Ripper's death, I assume?"

Deathbringer smiled thinly and said, "Looks like we're on the same page."

"Oh, good," purred Ethan. "Now…if you wouldn't mind removing the gun from my head? I find it particularly impedes my memory."

"No, my bullet will impede your memory. The gun helps provoke the little bastard to the surface."

"Ah, so it does, so it does."

The 9mm slowly withdrew and Ethan relaxed by pouring himself another scotch, downing it in a moment then pouring another. He offered the bottle towards the standing one-eyed man then, when it was declined, scoffed at him.

"Oh, come now, come now. Sit down and let's talk like civilized people do."

"If either of us are civilized, the rest of the world is a zoo."

Ethan frowned then shrugged, saying, "Very well." He then looked curiously up at the younger man and asked, "How did you lose that eye?"

"I'll give you a demonstration for free if you don't start telling me what you know," growled Deathbringer in response.

The Chaos mage wrinkled his nose at that and took a sip of his scotch.

"Testy, aren't we? Very well then…but you've got to give me something in exchange for what I know."

A dark eyebrow arched.

"I was planning on letting you live but if you want to trade that for something else…"

"Oh, no, no, that's quite fine," said Ethan, raising a hand.

Deathbringer smirked coldly, saying, "Yeah, I thought it would be. Now talk." He flicked the safety off the Glock and added, "Elsewise…well, I think you know what happens elsewise."

"Indeed I do. Now are you going to sit down or stand there and glower at me?"

"I'll stand, thanks."

The Chaos mage shrugged and said, "Very well." And then he launched into his explanation of the facts of Rupert Giles' death.

By the end, Deathbringer wasn't sure whether to kill him or let him continue to live in his misery. Because Ethan was miserable. He'd helped kill Giles – in a small way mind you – and had discovered afterwards that without his old friend to torment, Chaos just wasn't as amusing anymore.

No.

No, death was too good for the likes of Ethan Rayne. He'd put them – and a lot of other people – through too much shit to get off that easy.

And maybe he could be used.

"Interesting," said the hunter, idly flicking dirt out from under his fingernails (or was that blood?). He then turned his single eye on the Chaos mage and purred, "You'll be helping me from now on, Rayne. And first off you'll be hunting down everyone else that helped kill Giles."

"Why should I help you?"

Deathbringer lifted the Glock to the mage's forehead and growled, "Because if you don't I'll make your miserable little life even more of a Hell than it already is."

Ethan looked at him for a long moment, lips pursed, then sighed. He spread his hands in a helpless gesture and stated, "I have no other choice then, do I?"

"There's always choices. Just depends on how shittier one is than the other."

He flippantly saluted with the barrel of his gun and shot, "Be seeing yah."

Ethan nodded then sneered at his turned back, muttering something under his breath. The Chaos mage then yelped in sheer, unadulterated terror when the younger man whirled back about and charged. He had the older man up against the wall in less than a heartbeat, one hand clenched tight about his throat whilst the other pressed the barrel of the Glock hard against his temple. But it wasn't the hand choking him or the gun that nearly made him sober right there on the spot.

It was the slight green gleam in the sole hazel eye and the cold, harsh emotion within it that said this man would have no qualms about seriously injuring him. 'Cause he knew that the former White Knight wasn't going to let him die.

Even Ethan Rayne knew he was too good for death.

"Now you listen to me, you little cockshit," snarled Deathbringer in a dark growl. "I don't give a rat's ass what you think about me. And, while I won't kill you, I will beat the ever-living shit out of you if you ever try and soil the names of people so far above you, you can't see the ground they're standing on. We have an understanding?"

All Ethan could do in response was nod. The hand around his throat was rather forcefully cutting off the flow of air and preventing speech…but luckily allowing the smallest amount of breathing.

"Good, we've got an understanding. Now get to fucking work."

He released the mage, shoving him hard against the wall as he turned and walked again towards the door. Ethan, hacking and coughing, slid down the wall until he was seated on the dingy floor, one hand gently massaging his bruised throat. He watched in silence as the hunter left then slowly made his way to his feet, coughing as he went.

When he made it back into his chair, he slumped into it and coughed before grabbing at the bottle of scotch. He took a long, harsh swing from the bottle and went into another coughing fit, this one accented by slightly mad laughter.

"The…hack ha…White Knight gone…cough…dark. Hack…what could be…cough haha…more beautifully…haha…ironic?"

He laughed, coughed, and drank himself into numbness, with the knowledge that he had helped kill Ripper and now…now he was going to help avenge him.

Irony was a bitch.