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 4

"I'm not quite certain whether to be disgusted or impressed with the chaos you've just caused," said Ethan as he looked at the blood-spattered, corpse-ridden room. "Though I do believe I am veering more towards impressed."

Deathbringer glanced at him as he slid a fresh clip into his Glock and slid it back into his holster. He then looked around and tugged a tablecloth off an overturned table, using it to wipe the gore off his sword.

"Should I be jumping up and down in glee at the sheer thought of you being impressed at my killing skills?"

"I'd dare say not," replied the Brit. He smiled in a sad sort of way as he added, "Ripper would never have approved."

There was a cold, hard stare at that then the younger man growled, "Giles never approved of my methods before I split with the Council."

The Chaos Mage shrugged at that then gave a little grin as there was an explosion from outside that rocked the building.

"Well, well…it looks like someone managed to call for reinforcements."

"Not anymore," said Deathbringer, dropping the bloodied tablecloth unceremoniously to the floor. He slid his sword into the sheath strapped across his back and turned, leaving the chaos of the room behind him. "Let's go, mage. Fun's over for the night."

Ethan pouted and said, "But I'd just gotten back into the spirit of things!"

The sole hazel eye turned towards him, fixing him with a gaze that could shatter ice. At that the mage winced and said, "Very well."

Deathbringer snorted and continued walking with the mage trailing behind him. When they reached the shattered front doors that had once lead into the building that housed what had been a lawyer's office. The top lawyer had, in reality, been a Black Mage of some power and also one of the names on the list of those who had conspired in Giles' death. Everyone else in his office had been flunkies and apprentices, all of whose bodies were now scattered in the blood-spattered room they'd just left.

He had left enough of the Black Mage for him to be identified by anything but magic…and even that one was iffy.

Stopping in the doorway, he turned and abruptly shoved Ethan up against the doorframe, his eye flashing for a moment with a green light.

"I don't care if you're 'back in the spirit of things', mage. If I couldn't make use of your considerable skill and you weren't such a shattered shell, I'd have killed you a week ago." Deathbringer tightened his grip on the mage's neck as he continued, "Also…I am by no fucking means your friend. So don't try and make out like I am. We got an understanding?"

Ethan nodded and was released, collapsing into a gasping head on the floor.

"Good," snarled Deathbringer. He then looked out into the dark night, smiling ferally when he saw the flaming wreckage of at least three cars. The Black Mage had had friends in town and they'd come running once he'd gone down. How could they have known that there had been the equivalent of a magical minefield planted across the driveway that led to the building? "Though, gotta say, I'm impressed. Pretty good job for an old man."

The Chaos Mage scowled and would have told the younger man just what he thought of that comment if his throat had been capable of handling speech. He had to give the former White Knight some credit…the puny youth he recalled had bulked up over the years. And had a hell of a grip too.

Deathbringer turned back to look at him with a stony gaze and growled, "I'll contact you in a week or two. We're going after the next one then – and this one's a big bad Chaos Mage like you. Be prepared. The nastier, the better."

With that he strode off towards where his car was parked, Ethan's eyes following him the whole way. The mage waited until he entered the sleek vehicle and was gone before he slowly rose to his feet, still rubbing his throat. Once upon a time he might have been thinking of a way to retaliate against such treatment of his person.

Now he just started limping towards home, trying to remember if he still had any scotch left.

---

Deathbringer was heading towards home but decided against it, instead heading to the bar where he'd had Spike meet him at. Everyone that came in there knew about the creepies that crawled in the night and that he was the person in town to see when you wanted something done about them. The corner table he always appropriated was practically his office now – the bartender even told anyone that approached the table to think twice 'cause it was his.

He stomped into the bar right in the middle of a fight and casually ducked his way past it, ignoring a dart that whizzed past his ear in the chaos. The bartender looked up and nodded a greeting as he wiped off a glass and set it on a shelf behind him.

"What'll it be tonight, Scar?" asked the middle-aged man in his ever-calm voice. He looked at him from under a wild mane of dusty brown hair, blue-gray eyes as intent and all encompassing as ever. "The usual?"

"Just a beer," grunted Deathbringer in response. He leaned against a stool whilst he waited for the bartender to get the drink and surveyed the still ongoing brawl with his sole eye. When the beer was placed on the scarred oak counter near his hand, he asked, "So what'd Notch do this time to piss someone off, D?"

The bartender – better known to those that frequented his bar as only D – calmly picked up another glass and began to wipe it clean as he responded.

"Idiot tried to cheat Yang at poker again."

Deathbringer snorted at that and permitted himself a short, harsh laugh that only D could hear. The bartender quirked a small smile then his face blanked again, not even twitching when the brawl ended up breaking one of the chairs. That was what Deathbringer liked about D; you just couldn't faze the man. And D wasn't scared of him like most people were upon seeing him. The man even called him 'Scar'. Nobody else, not even Faith, had the ball's to do that.

Sure they weren't friends but he respected D well enough that he didn't start anything in the bar and he stayed out of what got started. 'Cause if he got involved it'd swiftly go to Hell in a hand basket and end with at least two people dead. By accident. He wasn't counting the handful that would be dead on purpose.

"One day he'll learn," he said to D, raising his beer in a toasting gesture. "Elsewise he's going to grow out of the name Notch and we'll have to start calling him Swiss for all the hole's in his face."

D just grunted at that and Deathbringer headed off towards his table, settling into his well-worn chair with a sigh. He'd been smart enough to leave his sword in the car and only came into the bar with his trusty Glock at his side. Well…and that dagger he had hidden in a slot in his right boot.

Leaning the chair back onto two legs, he sipped at his beer and watched the fight as it slowly wound down. There were three black eyes, four busted lips, what might have been a shattered jaw, and a handful of broken ribs by the time it was over from what he could see. Most of those who'd gotten involved were hauled off by their friends – to stop the fight and nurse their various wounds – while the victor and focus of the original brawl settled back down at the poker table, nursing a black eye and a busted lip.

Deathbringer grinned and chuckled darkly, saying to himself, "Another score for Yang, King of the Poker Table. And another loss for Notch, the Village Idiot."

Both nicknames were those the whole bar called the two men in low, hushed voices – one had a revered hint to it while the other was tinged with disgust. Yang had proven to be the best damn poker player in the bar, able to beat you out of your money as well as give you a sound beating if you tried to back out of giving him what he'd won. Notch, on the other hand, was a druggie who'd smoked too much weed during high school and was pretty much a worthless human being as well as an idiot.

The druggie also thought he was a sharp hand at poker and tried to take on Yang every other night or so. It made for some good entertainment late at night to watch the idiot turn red-faced with anger whilst the Poker King just sat back in his chair and smirked, obviously trying to hold in laughter.

With Notch out of the picture for the night and Yang glowering at anything that even looked like trouble coming near his table, it appeared that any form of entertainment was out for the night. This noted, he sighed and set his nearly empty beer bottle on the table, keeping his eye out for anyone that even remotely looked like they were coming after him with a job. While he didn't need one right now since he had his own personal mission, if it paid, he'd take damn near anything on whilst he tried to figure out what had happened in the past.

Nothing popped out at him so he figured that it was going to be a quiet night for the first time in a few. Then…then she waltzed in like she owned the whole damn place.

The whole bar went quiet as the grave as she came in, dark hair bound up in a simple tail that rested at the base of her neck and trailed down her back. She was dressed simply (and smartly, in his opinion) in a pair of loose, dark pants that were tucked into a set of real combat boots and not some shoddy knock-offs with a dark tank-top and a loose cloth jacket in blood red over the top of it all. A bulge near the base of her spine showed off a weapon to those that noticed…though more drawing to the eye was the short sword she wore brashly at her left hip.

She went to the bar and every eye in the room followed her, each with interest of some type in that gaze. He kept his eye on her but also on the regulars that he knew would try and bed her – completely without her consent.

"Need something, Miss?" said D, looking up at the woman with a interested and slightly worried gaze. He knew the habits of some of his regulars and tried to keep the few women that wandered into the bar from falling prey to them. "Its not safe to be in this neighborhood all alone."

She smiled thinly at that.

"I'll be fine, thanks. Besides, I'm looking for an old friend."

D started to respond but one of the locals – drunk as a cloud in the sky – staggered up and butted in. He grabbed her arm and leaned on the counter, slurring, "Doan know about yer frien', missy, but…Ah'll be yer frien'."

Her lip curled and she lashed out, the heel of her hand striking his forehead at a startling speed. Deathbringer sat up, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs, as the local – a drunken leech he knew only as Sade for his sadist tendencies – hit the floor in blissful unconsciousness. He looked at her with an approving eye now.

She knew how to take care of herself.

D didn't blink as she sent Sade into unconsciousness and calmly asked, "And who would you be looking for in this sort of place?"

"I…"

Her response was cut off as Sade's brother made his drunken way to the bar…with all of their equally drunken minions in tow. He stopped, looked at her, then down at his brother, then back to her again. Somehow the situation got into his alcohol-dimmed mind and his eyes narrowed into beady dots of drunken anger. His arm drew back, muscles in his thick brutish shoulder going taut, and Deathbringer was on his feet and moving.

The woman stepped back, one hand going to her sword, but she never had the chance to draw it. A back covered in weather-beaten black leather plunged in front of her, its owner throwing up an arm to deflect the punch that had been aimed at her. Then that self-same arm lashed out, fingers catching Sade's brutish brother in the throat, causing the brute to choke and collapse, eyes rolling back in his head.

A dark head lifted from looking down at the mass of flesh now lying prostrate on the floor then up at the minions still standing there and staring at him in their drunken daze.

"Anyone else want to try taking the lady for a ride she probably doesn't want?" growled her rescuer.

The drunken minions stared then one muttered something about, "We doan wanna mess with the Bringer," which sent chills up her spine. At this, they all turned and fled as one, making her dark-haired rescuer laugh.

He then said, "Sorry about the mess, D. Didn't mean to kill the asshole."

The bartender snorted softly and replied, "Yeah, you did." He then looked at her again and asked, "Well now, how about we figure out if your friend's here, Miss?"

"Alright," said the woman, not noticing that her rescuer – who had been walking away – abruptly froze in his tracks. "I'm looking for…"

She paused, mouth open to continue speaking, and stared at the face of the man who'd stepped into the path of the punch meant for her. It had been years but she remembered that face well.

"Who you're looking for doesn't live here anymore, Summers," growled Deathbringer, his sole eye narrowed to a slit. A green glint sparked in the corner of his iris then faded as he reached out and grasped her shoulder, shoving her back against the bar. Teeth bared, he glowered down at her and Dawn felt afraid of the man she considered a brother for the first time in her life.

"Go home," he said in a cold voice. "'Cause next time…I'm not going to save your ass."