A/N: This chapter there's a little cameo from a well-known character entity. ;)

The Pompatus Box (Chapter 16: An Inspector Calls) by frostygossamer

Once out of Meg's stateroom, Dean hotfoots it to Captain Harvelle. Ellen has left Miss Masters flirting with her XO, a clean-cut young officer who rocks his uniform like a pro, and she is anxiously awaiting Dean's return in her office. She looks up expectantly as he hurriedly enters the room.

"I got something," Dean begins.

He quickly has her up to speed. She immediately contacts Eno Civil Security. A few minutes later, the weary image of a hollow-cheeked and graying plain-clothes security liaison appears on her intercommunicator. Ellen has had dealings with this guy before. She brings him up to date.

"So it looks like Miss Meg Masters of Masters Inc. was responsible for the actual theft of the missing item, Inspector Munch. And she seems to have been conspiring with a gang of space pirates."

The stony-faced inspector isn't in the mood for a leg-pull.

"Pirates?" He chuckles dryly. "Oh yeah. That'd be those mythical Selenite pirates I've heard all the rumours about."

Dean butts in. "Dude, we're talking an actual flesh-and-blood pirate here. Get your head out of your ass."

Although a hard-boiled veteran, Munch doesn't take too kindly to that sort of language. His attitude stiffens. Ellen nudges Dean out of the spotlight and continues.

"We can only assume that this VERY REAL pirate intends to demand a ransom or maybe protection money from the company. Inspector, it's important that you act without delay."

He's still reluctant to play along with their scenario. After a long career he knows how many beans make five.

"Masters is a very influential woman, Captain. It'd be hard to make ANYONE believe she'd be involved in something like this."

Clearly that includes him, but Ellen persists. She's not above using her feminine charms to get her point across. She treats him to a sexy smile and a girlish laugh.

"I can't believe it either, John, but, if you don't act on this immediately, we may never find out."

Munch is suckered in. He blows out a sigh and nods tiredly.

"OK, I guess I could arrange for de'Mon to be discreetly taken into custody and debriefed, if you can keep her locked down until your vessel makes landfall."

"Certainly. And Miss Masters?"

"de'Mon isn't exactly a reliable informant, Ellen. Without corroborating evidence, there's not much we can do. Masters' hotshot lawyers would have her back on the street within the hour and a wrongful arrest suit headed our way."

That is no answer as far as Dean sees it.

"So what? You and your boys are just gonna let her walk away free?"

"The best we can do is observe her activities. She won't be making a move that we don't know about."

Dean suspects they are being fobbed off. As Dean quietly fumes, Ellen winds up the conversation. When the inspector's lugubrious face disappears, she and Dean look at each other.

"Then I guess it's down to us again," comments Dean.

"I guess it's down to you, Dean," corrects Ellen.

She lays aside formalities and pats her friend on the shoulder.

"I have every faith in you, Dean, you know that? I'm counting on you to sort out this mess. You've never let me down yet."

A few years ago Captain Harvelle hired a stranger named Dean to do a little job for her. She had learned that her only daughter Jo was living with a buttwipe abuser of a boyfriend in the Lunar work colony. She wanted her back. Unharmed. She counted on him then and he didn't let her down.

Dean snatched Jo back. Saved her life, as it turned out. In gratitude, Ellen called in lots of favours and got his name added to the escort roster. Her help came at the right time, because it looked like he was about to lose his license to fly without a legitimate, tax-paying employ. He owed her.

"Count on me, Ellen."

He returns to Baby to plan his next mission. Locate Pirate Benny on Emo. Bring the Pompatus home.

=O=

As soon as he gets back to his ship, Dean is cornered by a big buck-naked Sam. Standing too close as always, he clearly has problems keeping his hands to himself. After waking up in bed alone, he was worried sick about Dean's whereabouts. The terse sound bite left for him about a meeting with Captain Harvelle told him next to nothing. He's desperate to know why Dean was called away to meet with the captain.

Sam hops from foot to foot, agitated, and exasperatedly flicks his long hair back off of his face. He's a typical junkie, and not for Demonblood. He's jonesing for Dean.

"Where the hell have you been all this time? What did the Convoy Commander want with you? Was it about my grandfather? You gonna hand me over to her? She gonna take me home?"

Dean tsks and pushes past him, stumbling slightly. He's miffy that the guy thinks he has some right to get a blow by blow account of his movements. Who does the bare-assed fool think he is?

"Nothing to do with you, dude. You're not as goddamn important as you think you are."

"So the Grand Duke hasn't asked for me back yet?"

Dean gives him a cold glare and walks over to get himself a drink.

"The Grand freakin' Duke will get you back when I'M good and ready."

"Then what was it all about?"

Dean sighs deeply, pours himself a whiskey, throws it down his neck, pours himself another. It's obvious he may as well bring Sam up to speed. The guy sounds like he's not going to let it alone until he does.

He has told him already about the diplomatic courier and his big black portmanteau, and the fancy wood box inside it that Death wouldn't even open. But he doesn't know how much the guy remembers, given what Sam's mouth and fingers were doing to HIM while he was going over it.

"You remember what I said about Death and his gift box?"

That perks up Sam's interest. "Sure. The Pompatus Box. You told me."

Dean is a little taken aback that Sam knows what he's talking about. The guy must be one amazing multitasker.

"Turns out it was switched out someplace, and now I gotta go to Emo, bring it back."

Dean flops in his armchair, wincing a little, and carefully settles into its cushions. Sam can see him a lot better by the light of the floor lamp beside his chair. And he doesn't look his best.

"What's wrong with your face?" he demands.

"It's nothing. Seems Miss de'Mon is pretty nifty with the silverware."

"Lemme look."

Sam kneels beside his chair and studies the ragged cut in Dean's smooth cheek.

He inhales through his teeth. "THAT is gonna need stitches."

"Not as much as this would."

Dean peels off his jacket to reveal a small, bloody tear in his shirt. There's a slim but deep gash in his flesh right below the underarm. Ruby seems to have got in a lucky jab. Sam wants to take care of it but Dean bats away his twitchy fingers.

"Dean, You gotta let me help you fix that up. It's bad."

But Dean shakes his head. "No need. My good buddy'll take care of it."

Dean retrieves his black velvet bag of gear and a vial of YED from its place in the side table. Sam watches him with a concerned frown on his face as he goes through his daily routine, preparing himself his regular dose of YED. Dean has never done this right in front of Sam before. Sam doesn't like the look of it and says so.

"I know what that crap is. It's what they call 'the Yellow-eyed Demon'. Xan, uh, xantho-"

"Xanth-ophthalmo-daimonide," supplies Dean.

"Yeah. That's the sucker. It's deadly."

"Only if you don't use it the right way."

People love to lecture Dean about the perils of drug abuse. A little pointless in his case. He's not an abuser. He's a casualty. To Sam his comment seems flippant.

"It's poison and if you're a user you're a dumb-ass. It'll kill you, sooner or later."

Dean corrects him. "Not the YED that'll kill me. Missing my daily fix, sure."

He grinds his teeth as he plunges the needle into his arm. Sam flinches. Tiredly, Dean explains himself.

"Had the decision made for me a LONG time ago. There's no coming off of THIS baby."

Sam still can't help being a little snarky at Dean's casual attitude.

"There's a maintenance drug, synth-YED. You ever try that?"

Dean has to laugh. "Man, I wrote the book on that crap. You want to know how a zombie feels? Try synth-YED. I grew up in a drab orphan institution where they fed it to me every damn month. It's legal and it lasts way longer, but it dulls your senses and makes you feel like you're barely half-alive. I prefer to take my chances with the real deal."

Sam does get it. What Dean says about growing up in an institution and feeling half-alive reminds him of the life he led back on Terra. He was expected to be some performing bear for the paparazzi. He could never have a life of his own like a regular person, because he was born the heir to the Grand Duchy of Campobello. All he has ever wanted is his freedom.

As he watches, Dean relaxes and lets the YED flow through his veins. And with it flows a strange rosy glow of health, contrary to the drugged out look Sam expected. The angry inflammation already glowing around the nasty cut on Dean's cheek subsides and the skin visibly knits over the gash. At the same time the wound under his arm stops bleeding.

YED may be crap but it's miraculous crap.

After a minute, Dean absently scrubs at his face with the back of his hand, smearing a little dried blood. But the slash Ruby cut has disappeared. He opens his shirt and watches as the injury in his side heals and all pain fades.

Laughing dryly, Dean drains his glass and slams it down on the table.

"And you drink too much," comments Sam.

TBC

A/N: So Dean has a new mission and Sam is starting to care about him a little. Off to Emo. More soon.

Disclaimer: I do not own the character John Munch. He remains the property of his copyright owners.