Meanwhile, Sam the sarcastic cyborg looked around the face of the planet, his eyes switching effortlessly to night-vision and giving everything a sickeningly greenish hue. The planet was just a stretch of rocks and sands; no buildings, no people. It was, on the surface, little more than an asteroid. Sam stood, motionless, as he scanned his surroundings. The nearest life forms were a mile or so under his feet, and retreating. Sam was isolated and alone. Dean didn't come back.

Figures.

(-*-)

Gabriel groaned as his brain attempted to reassemble reality around him. It suggested that the process might be a little easier if he opened his eyes, but Gabriel was pretty sure his brain could go take a flying leap.

"Gabriel." A hissing voice hissed at him. It sounded vaguely familiar.

"Go away."

"Gabriel!" It hissed again, accompanied by a shove to his shoulder. This did not increase Gabriel's inclination to listen to the voice.

"I said zark off."

"Gabriel, you've got to see this!"

He opened one bleary eye, and was met with a bleary landscape of bleary shapes. The nearest one slowly resolved itself into the shape of his semi-cousin Balthazar. He was grinning like the Quaxi-zenalonian cat that got the creamed bovine extract, and it wound Gabriel right up.

"What are you so happy about? What happened? Everything hurts…"

"I think we got hit with knock-out gas." Balthazar said, like it was a good thing. "Gabriel, look!" Gabriel was about to complain, when the more distant bleary shapes slowly resolved themselves.

"Is this…"

"It is."

Gabriel's jaw dropped. Not since he was ten years old had he seen anything that so utterly embodied every aspect of fantasy, every wildest dream… the streets were paved with gold. The sea was made out of sugared, carbonated fruit juice. The finest candies of the universe grew on nearby trees, and were caught and served by nubile young nymphs. Gabriel stared around at it in equal parts wonder, enjoyment and total, unyielding confusion.

"I… but… what?"

"I don't know." Balthazar clapped him on the shoulder. "But it's brilliant, isn't it?"

"Where's Castiel?"

"No idea. I woke up and it was just the two of us, in this place."

"Maybe… maybe we're dead."

"You think this is the afterlife?"

Gabriel motioned at their surroundings, prompting adoring giggles from a crowd of nearby nymphs.

"Can you think of anything more heavenly?"

Balthazar thought for a moment. It was a fair point. All of a sudden, a giant banner unscrolled across the sky reading, in bright letters:

"Krippkethea. Your dreams are our reality".

Then, the world around them suddenly went dark.

"Balthazar?"

"Yeah, it's done this a couple of times. I think we're in an advert."

"An advert? Like a commercial? For Heaven?"

Annoying, jingle-like music started up, but was quickly cut as the light show around them disappeared, leaving them in a metal-walled holochamber. They saw Castiel standing in the operation booth. He pointed to the door, and they both trudged rather sheepishly out of the chamber.

(-*-)

"No." Dean shook his head, following Chuck into his office. It looked like a small thunderstorm had taken place there, which Dean supposed could be entirely possible. "No, just… no."

"I appreciate that it is rather surprising, earth-man, but I don't know why you find it so shocking."

"But… mice? My whole planet was run for the benefit of mice?"

"Yes."
"But… mice?"

"I'm confused, earth-man." Chuck stopped rummaging through the piles of paper he had on his desk, to look at Dean. "If I had mentioned any other animal, would you find it easier to understand?"

"Well, yeah." Dean sighed. "Mice are… mice. They eat cheese, get chased by cats and advertise money-grabbing kids' theme parks."

Chuck stared at him.

"You know? Like, Disney?"

"Dean, I've been in a hyper-coma for about five million years. I'm not up on pop culture."

"Oh… uh… but, you get my point."

"Yes. Look, the creatures you know as mice aren't what they seem. The little four-legged furry things with big ears are just the manifestations their true pan-dimensional form takes when they enter into our universe. Kind of… vessels, I guess. All that stuff with the cheese and the getting chased by cats was just a clever bit of psychology to make humans think they were unthreatening. It's no good setting up an experiment in behavioural psychology if everyone knows you're all powerful overlords."

"I… so the mice were experimenting… with us."

"Yes. Tell me, earth-man, do all humans have such a short memory?"

A voice boomed over a PA system that had long since been buried by mountains of paper.

"Shurleyburlfast. Repeat, Shurleyburlfast. This is a staff announcement, could Shurleyburlfast report to the management offices, please."

"Hyper intelligent beings… but their management skills…"

"Not good with PR?" Dean chuckled, deciding it was best to just give up.

"Every time I talk to them, I get the feeling they're trying to sell me some hokey fairy tale."

"Imagine that."

(-*-)

For as long as there has been life, sources report that there have been problems with life. The most popular chart at "why are people born", "why do they die" and "why do they spend so much of the intervening time messing around with personalised ringtones". Many millions of years ago, a hyper-intelligent race of pan-dimensional beings decided that enough was enough. Getting drunk and having cheap one-night stands or bar room fights could only make up for so much, especially when your true form was capable of performing all three acts at once, and so something had to be done. To this end, they built themselves a super-computer, the likes of which had never been seen before. So intelligent was this computer that, before it had finished its power-up sequence, it had started at "God works in mysterious ways" and gotten around to surmising the religious importance of public transport and the instructions on the back of instant meals.

Could a computer, a mechanical, artificial intelligence be capable of answering the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything?

Fortunately, these hyper-intelligent pan-dimensional beings had something of a tendency towards recording moments for the sake of posterity, and so there exists an account of that fateful day. It is this recording, in which the computer is tasked with its monumental process, which Dean Winchester is now sat down to watch, amidst the sea of clutter in Chuck's office.

The recording beeped loudly, as holographic images formed themselves around him. He soon found himself in a virtual office, much cleaner than Chuck's, and much larger. The polished desk was dark and gleaming, the carpet was neat and clean, and atop the gargantuan desk sat the computer itself; Deep Voice.

"Weird name for a computer." Dean grumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The informational illusion stirred into action around him.

Two figures entered, who looked almost human, but cast bizarre shadows that seemed impossible given the light in the room.

"Let me guess, that's what their true form looks like on camera?"

"Yes." Chuck nodded. "Now just watch the thing, please?"

The informational illusion resumed play. The two men-like figures approached the vast computer, nervous and excited. The computer lit up.

"What is the task that you would have me complete? You have but to ask, and I, Deep Voice, the second greatest computer in all of time and space shall complete it for you."

"Oh Deep Voice…" Began one of the almost-men, staring up at the computer with awe. "We ask of you…"

"No, hang on." The second one jumped in, looking more suspicious than his companion. "What does it mean, 'second'?"

"I described myself as second greatest." Deep Voice boomed. "And as such, I am."

"But…" The two almost-men exchanged looks. "But aren't you a greater computer than the Maximegalon University's Edlunderrent Analyser, which can predict every possible outcome of any given event within a fraction of a second?"

"The Edlunderrent Analyser…" Deep Voice boomed, thinly veiled contempt in its speakers, "may be able to decode every possible outcome, but only I can see which is the correct one."

"And…" The two almost-men looked at each other once more. "And you are more intelligent than the Krippkethan Console, which manages and manifests five-dimensional blueprints for each planet they design?"

"A trifling abacus. Bore me not with such primitive beasts."

"And you have greater processing capabilities than the Seratronic Megabrain of Carverent Five, which…"

"The Seratronic 'Megabrain' is woefully misnamed. You would do well not to mention it in my presence."

"Well then…" The first almost-man looked to the second, scratching his head. "What's the problem?"

"I speak only of that which is to come after me. A computer so vast, so intricate, that organic life itself will form part of the operational matrix. A computer so beautifully advanced that I am not worthy to contemplate, but that I shall eventually be charged with designing."

"Seriously?" The second almost-man turned to the first. "You don't think this is needlessly pedantic?"

"Isn't being a pedant always needless? I had thought that was the meaning of…"

"Deep Voice, can we just get on and ask the question?"

"Speak, and I shall answer."

The first almost-man cleared his throat, and resumed his awestruck gazing.

"Oh Deep Voice. We have designed you for this task; we want you to tell us… The Answer."

Deep Voice blipped, contemplatively.

"The answer?"

"You know… the ultimate answer. To Life…"

"The universe."

"Everything!"
Deep Voice blipped again, before humming.

"Tricky."

"But you can do it?"

"Yes. I'll have to think about it."

"That's fine. Don't…"

The door burst open, and two more almost-men burst in, these ones wearing wild, flowing robes that clashed garishly with their sleek, executive surroundings.

"Stop!" One of the robed ones declared. "Stop this right now."

"Who are you?" Cried the first almost-man.

"We are philosophers." Stated the robed ones. "And we demand that you switch this… 'thing' off."

"What?" The second almost-man turned on them. "Why?"

"As philosophers, we hold the market on all existential crises, contemplations and theorems. You can't take our business, pal, it's a union matter. It's… what do they call it…"

"Demarcation?" The second almost-man supplied, earning himself a glare from his partner. The philosopher grinned.

"That's the one. The machines can handle all the adding up, all the number problems, all the quadratic functions and what-have-you. Let us deal with the unanswerable questions concerning metaphysical states of existence, thank you very much. It's our inalienable prerogative, isn't it?"

"If I might…" Deep Voice began, to scowls from the philosophers.

"You keep your circuits out of this, Pentium-brains. No, this is illegal. Taking work away from your standard, blue-collar thinkers. It's no good us debating the existence of heaves, hells and purgatories if this thing comes along and gives you a bloomin' map to 'em."

"If I might make…"

"We'll go on strike!" The philosophers shouted, jabbing their almost-fingers at the almost-men's almost-chests. "You'll have a national strike of Philosophers, luminaries and thinking persons."

"And exactly who is that going to inconvenience?"

"If. I. Might. Make. An. Observation." Deep Voice boomed, cutting into their argument. "All I wanted to say is that my circuits are now irrevocably committed to computing the Answer."

"Oh, well then…"

"But. The program will take rather a long while to run."

"How long?"
"Seven and a half million years."

"What?"

"Approximately. And it occurs to me that a program such as this is bound to cause fervent media speculation. And, if a group of pundits were to guess what the final Answer may be… as long as they disagreed with each other violently enough, they could probably clean up on the chat shows and newspaper columns."

Everyone blinked up at Deep Voice. No one really knew what to say to that, so they decided to leave the computer to it.

Dean blinked, as the illusion dispelled.

"Huh… So even other dimensions get annoying chat show guests."

Chuck nodded, laughing a little.

"But what's it all got to do with the Earth?"

Chuck stared at him, before running a hand over his face.

"Not to quick on the draw there, are you?"

"What?"

"Just… play the next illusion." Chuck waved his hand at the illusion player, and it sputtered into life once more. The holographic office was just as clean and tidy, but had lost its sheen of newness.

Two new almost-men, one surrounded by dancing white light, and one surrounded by swirling black shadow, were stood in front of Deep Voice.

"Here we are." Said the light one. "The time of waiting is over."

"Seven and a half million years." Agreed the dark one. "Here's hoping it's worth it."

"Never again will we wake up and wonder who we are, why we are… whether or not it would matter if we just sat around in our underwear all day. It'll be, finally, completely sorted out."

The computer hummed into life.

"Good Evening."

"Deep Voice! Good evening." The light one spoke, everything about him tense. "Have you… have you reached a conclusion?"

"Can you give us an answer?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Yes."

"The Answer? The ultimate answer of Life, The Universe and Everything?"

"Yes." Deep Voice said, before continuing with a pause so pregnant that it may have morphed into a chest-burster scene from Alien. "But you won't like it."
"That doesn't matter." The light one dismissed, leaning forward.

"That's almost expected." The dark one agreed, staring intently up at the computer.

"Alright." Said Deep Voice. "The ultimate Answer…"

"Yes?"

"To Life, The Universe and Everything…"

"Yes?"

"Is… is.."

"Yes?"
"Yellow." Deep Voice sounded suitable abashed.

Whatever the pause had birthed, it must have smelled pretty bad to make the light and dark ones make faces like that.

"Yellow?"

"Yes. I've worked at it, double checked it, gone over it at least forty two times, and the answer is quite definitely 'yellow'."

The dark one stared at the light one.

"So would you rather go for a murder-suicide, or just let the crowds of people waiting for us outside do it?"

"No." The light one said. "No, that can't be right…"

"It is." Deep Voice intoned. "But I think the problem may have been that you didn't actually give me a question."

"We gave you the ultimate question!" Yelled the light one. "The question of Life, the Universe, and Everything!"

"Which is?"

The light one and the dark one stared at each other, before slumping to the floor.

"We have no question." The light one sighed.

"And without a question, the answer doesn't make sense." The dark one agreed.

"But…" Deep Voice spoke, cutting through their maudlin silence. "I do know who could tell you the question."

"Brilliant." The dark one leapt to his feet. "Who?"

"I speak only…" Deep Voice's speech units resonated with a bassy tremble, making his declaration sound unnervingly mythic. "Of that which is to come after me. A computer so vast, so intricate, that organic life itself will form part of the operational matrix. A computer so beautifully advanced that I am not worthy to contemplate, but that I shall now design for you… It shall be called… The Earth."

"The Earth…" The dark one muttered, watching as blueprints and holograms danced across Deep Voice's screen. "I don't like the name much…"

The illusion flickered and dispersed. Dean stared at Chuck.

"No way."

"Yup."

"No way."

"Yup. That is how the Earth was designed. We built it, placed it, and the mice oversaw the experiment, until… well, you know how the story ended."

Dean sat back, his mind reeling under all the new information. Chuck patted him on the shoulder.

"If you want my opinion, the fact that the answer doesn't make sense seems perfectly rational, if you look at the world."

"I'm beginning to agree with you."

"Shurleyburlfast!" The PA yelled again, much more insistent. "Report to the management offices at once and bring the Earth creature with you. Come on, man, you're letting the side down."

Chuck sighed.

"Come on. The mice don't like to be kept waiting."

"I give up, man." Dean sighed, following after Chuck. "In the last twenty four hours, I've found out my planet was run by mice as an experiment, I've been blown up, thrown off ships, thrown through space and made to do it all with a headache. And my girlfriend left me."

"Really?" Chuck huffed a soft laugh. "Ouch. What happened?"

"She was messing around on me. Told her to shape up or ship out."

Chuck blinked up at him, before shaking his head and leading the way down the corridor.

"You really thought she'd stay?"

"I was… ugh, forget it."