Summary: Xander's roadtrip goes four dimensional, and un-living.

Crossover: Hellsing, Blood Rayne

Disclaimer: If you think I own this, I have a bridge to sell you.

Feedback: Why not? It ensures that I will write more.

Pre-Fic Comments:

The Hellsing parts /will/ be non-canon, since I only have up to volume four or five of the manga.

* * *

"How about you go in and take care of the GGG officers," Xander began, "and I take care of the Letzt Battalion officers?"

Rayne looked up from sharpening one of her blades. "Sure. What weapons are you planning on using?"

Xander pulled out a .454 handgun, about thirty centimeters long. "The bullets are made from Hellsing's stock."

"Lancaster?," the slim half-vampiress asked. She was dressed in her silk and leather workclothes that hid the blood so well.

"Yeah," Xander affirmed. The .454 ammunition was made by Hellsing's gunsmith, and the bullets were made of one of Lancaster Cathedral's melted down crosses.

"Please tell me you're going to get changed before you go in," Rayne moaned. "You can /not/ be thinking of going against Nazi vampires in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans."

"What?," Xander asked. "I've been waiting hundreds of years to get these shirts!"

"Your fashion sense must have died with you," Rayne muttered.


"Hawaiian shirts went out in the eighties," Rayne complained.

"No one's perfect," Xander shrugged. "You want to catch a movie after this, then socially humiliate me as we break up after a torrid affair?"

The red headed half-vampiress laughed out loud at this. "Sure. We'll see how we go about the break up, depending on you."

* * *

Xander poked his head through a ceiling. Like his Sire, he had the ability to dematerialise. He had enjoyed using it to spy on girls, until they saw his face sticking out of a wall and hit him later, when he wasn't dematerialised. At the moment, he was looking at an immense underground zeppelin hangar in South America.

"Ooooooh boy," he muttered. "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

He was looking at a thousand vampires, all clad in varying uniforms, all with the swastika around their arms. They were saluting three figures walking down from a zeppelin.

He took a closer look at the three figures. The one on the left was bodyguard material, and had a trenchcoat and hat on. A long gun was attached to his belt. The one on the right could only be a doctor of some sort, with a bloodstained lab coat on. The doctor had glasses with numerous movable lenses on, and a frown at all times.

The middle figure was short and fat, with glasses and a tan suit on. He was the obvious leader, waving regally to the troops as he walked down from the zeppelin, the other two following him.

A kid with... wolves ears? ran up to the fat man. Xander listened intently. The werewolf bragged about how the werewolves would have done a better job than... Tubalcain? Xander had never heard of Tubalcain.

Seven figures appeared out of the murky gloom at the south entrance to the hanger, three in wheelchairs, all old. The short, fat man with glasses clicked his heels together then saluted them in the Nazi fashion.

"Zeik Heil! Special duty, Generalissimo's Secret #666 complete, I have returned!"

Xander laughed to himself as the lead guy started argueing with the short man, eventually striking him and kicking him to the ground. Hopefully they'd all start fighting. Why couldn't more enemies infight like this?

He groaned as the man in the fancy uniform stopped, as another group shot his baton. This new group looked like trouble.

Xander ignored them, until the short, fat major announced his intentions.

"My purpose? Hehe, a purpose, eh, Colonel? To be able to taste the joy of war forever! For the next war, and the war after that."

"You're mad," Xander shouted, unable to stop himself. More than a thousand Nazi's heads shot up.

"Ah, can you forget I was here?," Xander asked weakly. "There's a twinkie in it for... ah, crap."

* * *

Post-fic comments:

Sorry if this is short. Blame the fanboy muse.