A/N: Funny you should mention jeans samisnotevil. :) We think alike o_O ;) Now Dean begins his mission...

The Pompatus Box (Chapter 17: Emo Rendezvous) by frostygossamer

They are spiralling down to land on Emo and Dean is getting set for his mission, checking and loading his firearms, his carefully chosen outfit laid out ready. Sam is hanging around, getting in his way.

Sam is wearing a slightly too tight, white, sleeveless undershirt and low-rider jeans. He has been back in regular clothes for a couple weeks. Walking around the ship nude became more practical for both of them after Dean gave him the go-ahead to satisfy his needs with the flier's body. But Dean soon tired of Sam damaging his clothes by trying to rip them off still buttoned. Fortunately, Sam has gotten beyond the wolfish stage and is finally starting to kick the Demonblood. It's a welcome reprieve for Dean and his wardrobe.

After Dean has snarled at him for the fifth time, Sam tries to be more helpful by handing Dean his clothes as he dresses.

Today's outfit is a sand-coloured Nehru jacket, with extra inside pockets for weapons, over a T-shirt, white cargo shorts and sandals. Not really Dean's style. He's more comfortable in denim and leather and a long way from pastels. But he's hoping to pass for a regular Emoan citizen, and those people love their gender-neutral and happening fashions. Dean grumbles as he pulls on his suspiciously floral shirt.

"Freakin' Emo. Freakin' hate that oversize cotton ball."

Sam returns to sitting in the Captain's chair, idly spinning around in it every now and again. He gives his opinion.

"Dude, there's nothing wrong with Emo. Been there plenty times with the GD. Great reception every time. Emoans really go for all that courtly hokum."

"I bet," complains Dean.

He's strapping on his grenade belt. Emo has never been a favourite destination for him. The Emoan flower-child mentality doesn't sit well with a guy brought up in a grim orphanage. He finds their geniality deeply suspect.

"You sure you're up to this, Dean?"

Sam is mindful of Dean's recent injury. The YED may have healed him but Sam is sure something like that has to leave at least mental trauma behind. He can't help feeling a little concerned about his host's welfare. Sam has always been a caring sort of guy.

Dean scoffs. "Sure, I'm up to this. Dude, THIS is what I do."

Sam doesn't doubt that Dean is physically capable of completing the mission he's about to embark on, but he itches to help out in some way.

"Maybe I should come too? Extra pair of hands? You and me, we'd make an awesome team."

Dean snorts in disgust. "Team? Dude, I work alone. End of discussion. You're strictly inventory. OK? Don't need your dead-weight on my ass."

When all he gets is a pout from Sam he jabs his finger at him. "You stay put. Hear me?"

He's sure an extra pair of hands getting in the way is likely to get a guy dead. No, Dean has always been a one-man army, YED-fuelled and totally up for the game. He isn't going to let his paycheck do something stupid and wind up killed or wounded before he has a chance to cash him in.

Sam makes a sulky face. "So, uh, what's the plan? IF you wanna let inventory hear about that kinda thing."

Dean shoots him a sharp look. "The plan - not that it's any of your business - is to locate this Benny 'King of the Pirates' assclown, if he even exists, and force him to hand over the freakin' Pompatus Box. Then I return it to the diplomatic mailman before someone catches on and starts a political crapstorm."

"And then you get paid," adds Sam.

Dean's face lights up in a cheesy grin. "Mucho dinero, dude. Mucho."

Sam is starting to get his host's motivation. It's ALL about the money, nothing else.

"OK, so how you gonna trace this Pirate Benny character? Emo is a big place and, frankly, kinda disorganized."

"Got my contacts."

That is the beauty of money. With enough cash, Dean never fails to find SOMEONE who will give him what he needs. He stows his handguns and favourite knives inside his jacket and finishes the final setup at Baby's control console before marching to the exit.

"Back soon, Baby," he calls over his shoulder.

That causes Sam to it's not meant for him, is it? It occurs to Sam that it would be cool if it was. Dean is about to slip out when Sam catches up and grabs his arm, stopping him in the exit way. For some reason he needs to let Dean know he's not approving this.

"You even know what the hell is in that box you're gonna risk your life for?"

"Zero clue."

"Then why's it so damned important? They can get the guy a bunch of freakin' roses."

Dean shrugs. "Again zero clue. But, hey, they wanna pay me to recover it for them so... Yeah."

Sam can't help feeling a little exasperated at Dean's apparent recklessness. Dean, for his part, isn't about to start questioning the good sense of his line of work at this stage.

"So you're not even a tiny bit curious?" asks Sam.

Dean was expecting Sam to stop acting clingy when his dependency on Demonblood came to an end. But then he never has been much of a judge of human nature. He pulls his arm out of Sam's grasp and yanks the door lever down. The hatch opens with a swoosh and he steps outside.

"Sam, this is my JOB. I don't get curious. I get paid. THAT's the bottom line. I NEVER question a client. I NEVER interfere with a package. And, anyways, it's not your business."

Before Sam can think of a comeback, Dean's gone.

=O=

Dean enters a old-style cabaret bar in central Daffodil, the nearest thing Emo has to a capital. A young guy and girl duo are warbling the latest popular ballad, a mawkish number with an irritatingly haunting refrain that will no doubt be bothering him for days.

Sitting down at a vacant table, he orders a cheeseburger and a beer for two credits, plus a bunch of sides. Some fancy-schmancy salad garnish is responsible for the extra half credit on the price. When it arrives, Dean pulls the weird vegetation out of his burger and tucks in.

Half way through his meal, a painfully thin, jug-eared character approaches and stands grinning by his table waiting to be acknowledged. Dean glances up and snorts. The guy still looks like the wasted druggie he was when they met, even after all this time clean. He greets the newcomer tersely.

"Hi, Garth."

Garth responds with a nervous grin and takes that as an invitation to sit down at the table, across from Dean.

"Hi there, Captain Dean. Been a while, huh?"

Dean has had dealings with this guy often. Garth Fitzgerald may come off like he's the authority on the Emo underworld without good cause, but he does come up with the goods from time to time. When all he gets from Dean is a chin jerk of acknowledgement, Garth suggests a topic of mutual interest.

"So, uh, I hear you're looking for the scoop on a certain pirate? Name of, uh, Benny?"

"Yep."

Dean waves a hand to indicate that Garth, who is eyeing his plate, is free to take a fry or two. Garth happily helps himself to a handful, rejoicing gleefully like a little kid, and speaks between mouthfuls.

"Benny Lafitte. Believe I know the coordinates of the rock he's hiding under."

"Awesome."

This pirate could turn out to be real after all. There follows a long pause during which Garth continues to chuckle, all proud of himself, and finishes Dean's French fries. Dean stares at him in disbelief.

"And..." he prompts.

Garth snaps out of his self-congratulation.

"Four blocks west of here there's this monkey track. That's where you'll find him."

Dean waits for further explanation, which doesn't come.

"Monkey track? The freak is a monkey track?"

Garth shakes his head like he's dealing with an idiot, not an attitude Dean appreciates.

"A track, yeah? With monkeys, yeah?" like it should be obvious.

Dean snorts in response and stands up to go find the place. He drops a bunch of bills on the table. Garth pockets them and dives on the remains of Dean's burger as Dean walks out.

He ordered large deliberately. The skinny kid always looks to him like he could use a good meal.

TBC

A/N: So what is this place Garth has directed Dean to and what will he find there? More soon.