Dean followed Chuck into a large hall, walking towards a long table which was laden down with bizarre and alien forms of food which looked almost, but not quite familiar. Around the table sat Gabriel, Castiel and Balthazar, talking animatedly and looking surprisingly at ease.

"Dean!" Balthazar waved, calling his friend over. "You've got to try the Purgatian Megadonkey, it's the best you'll ever eat!"

Dean approached the table, staring at them.

"What are you doing here?"

"We were, um… 'forcefully invited'." Gabriel grinned. "Our hosts kind of insisted we stick around and do lunch."

"Hosts?" Dean looked around for whoever Gabriel was talking about.

"Dean Winchester." Something squeaked. "We meet at last."

Dean looked down at the table, and recoiled instinctively.

"Ew, dude, there's mice on the table!"

Everyone stared at him for a moment. Chuck sighed and buried his face in his hands.

"Oh…" Dean smiled awkwardly, looking down at the two mice. "Sorry, uh… still adjusting."

"Yes…" The white mouse spoke, his voice unnaturally squeaky. "Well, no one expects wonders from you, human."

"And yet," chipped in the black mouse, "We really hope you can produce them."

"Oh." Castiel stood, grinning dopily. "Dean, I should introduce you. This is Mickey and Lucy, the two mice I rescued from Earth."

"I'd really rather we dropped those particular monikers." The black mouse sighed. "I suggest, if you must call me anything, you call me 'Lucifer'. Him, however, you can call as you please."

"I would prefer…" the white mouse squeaked back, tail twitching in irritation, "that you call me Michael, but it is non-essential. Dean, we must speak with you."

"The mice have a proposal for us." Balthazar grinned, eyes gleaming with the same wicked smile as his semi-cousin.

"A lucrative proposal." Gabriel agreed, his tone making Dean's corporate senses tingle.

"Shurleyburlfast, you may leave." Lucifer sniffed, flicking his tail at Chuck. Chuck jumped, resuming his nervous twitching.

"Oh, sure. I'll just, uh… Get to work, I guess."

"Oh, about that. Turns out we won't need the Earth Mark 2 after all. I'm sure we can trust you to inform everyone that they're no longer needed."

"But…"

"Thank you, you may go."

"I… ok… Well, uh, good luck, Dean. Hope things get a little less hectic for you."

Chuck left, shooting the mice dark glares as he did so. The mice ran to a maze of plastic tubes and boxes that sat on top of the table, looking like a more technological version of the hamster tracks Dean had seen on Earth.

"It is a simple enough proposition, Earth-man." Michael squeaked, running up inside a brightly coloured tube to reach a plastic platform a few feet above table level. Lucifer soon joined him.

"As you must know by now, human life only began to exist as part of the organic computational matrix of the Earth."

"Uh…" Dean nodded. "Sure."

"And, being on the planet Earth from the moment of your birth to the last possible moment before its demolition, you are the last true human consciousness."

"Sam doesn't count." Castiel put in, seeing Dean open his mouth to question. "His consciousness has been scrambled by the GPP of his robot body."

"Yeah, and won't he just love being told that." Gabriel muttered into his drink, scowling at the table.

"We believe," Michael squeaked, his beady black eyes intent on Dean, "that, as a part of the original computer matrix, and being there so near to the time of completion…"

"The question we were looking for, or at least a very-near-accurate version of the question, should be imprinted in your brain waves." Lucifer joined in, much more flippant in his observance of Dean, but no less unnerving. "The key to finding the Ultimate Question is locked up in that brain of yours. And we wish to buy it off you."

"They're talking big money." Gabriel smiled.

"As your agent…" Balthazar began.

"Since when are you my agent?"

"Since you took forever to get here. Now, as your agent, I have negotiated a settlement which we find fair and worthwhile."

"Ok." Dean nodded, looking around at all the assembled faces. "Deal. But, how would I know what the question is? I mean, believe me, if I knew it, I'd sell it to you…"

"Oh, no, you misunderstand." Michael squeaked in a way that sounded like terrifying, high-pitched laughter. "We can't buy the question. The science of your dimension is not nearly advanced enough to decode it."

"No." Lucifer agreed. "We wish to buy your brain."

"What?" Dean turned on the small group of astonished travellers. "You sold them my brain?"

"Not… not knowingly." Gabriel blustered, staring at the mice.

"It's a very simple procedure." Michael sighed, impatient. "We simply cut you open and take it back to our dimension. Yes, you'll die, but think of what you will be contributing to."

"But I need my brain!" Dean protested, backing away from the unhappy-looking rodents. "I don't want to die, not yet…"

"But you agreed." Lucifer squeaked. "We all heard you."

"Yeah, well… I un-agree."

"Un-agree?" Castiel repeated. "Weren't you a vice president or something? The best you can come up with is 'un-agree'?"

"I'm a little stressed here, what with mice trying to stake claim to my brain."

"Look." Lucifer squeaked, shrill voice taking on a menacing edge. "We tried to play nice, and if you won't sell us your brain, then I'm afraid we're just going to have to take it."

"Yeah, ok." Gabriel stood, making a violent hand gesture to imply Balthazar and Castiel do the same. "You guys may be all-encompassing in your dimension, but here on our turf, you'll have problems making it off that table."

"We know." Michael growled (as much as a white mouse can growl). "That is why we have summoned an elite troupe of mercenaries."

As if his words required proof, a group of five khaki-clad, gun-toting walls of walking muscle entered through the far set of doors, their faces set in expressions of extreme intimidation.

"Ah." Gabriel said. He turned his head to Castiel, as much as he could without taking his eyes off the mercenaries. "Am I right in thinking there's a set of doors behind us?"

"Yes." Castiel whispered.

"Are there gun-toting maniacs there, too?"

"No."

"Well that's lucky. Run!"

The group fled from the room in a manner void of grace, poise or dignity, but with their lives intact. Lucifer sniffed, his whiskers twitching dangerously.

"Bring the human back alive. Kill the others."

(-*-)

The small group scarpered through the corridors, pursued by blasts of bright light that dissolved everything they hit in a spray of embers.

"In here! Hide behind the computer banks."

Hiding between rows of blinking processors, the group huddled in the dim green light.

"Dammit." Gabriel gasped, struggling to regain his breath.

"Son of a bitch." Dean agreed. Then, glaring, "I can't believe you sold my brain."

"We thought they just wanted a question!" Gabriel raised his hands, defensively, as Castiel restrained Dean by his shoulder. "The answer's yellow, how hard could it be to make one up?"

"What colour clashes with purple?" Castiel supplied. "What colour rhymes with the best state of mind?"

"Yes, thank you, oh great prophet." Balthazar snapped. "How are we going to get out of this? Isn't there some kind of mobile communications device so you can, I don't know, communicate with the ship?"

"Hey, yeah!" Gabriel smiled.

"Great. Where is it?"

"It's… on the ship."

All three scowled at Gabriel, but were distracted when the computer bank next to them was riddled with gunfire.

"Give up, DiAngelo." One of the mercenaries called. "Do you have any idea how many people are pushing for your head?"

"Yeah." A second mercenary laughed. "We could make enough money to retire, just on you alone."

"Me?" Gabriel yelled, poking his head around the edge of the computer banks. "I thought you were after the human! What did I do?" He ducked back in quickly, as another barrage of gunfire was opened on them.

"You stole the ship." The first mercenary replied. "Not to mention the tax evasion, intergalactic con ring, extortion, solicitation…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Gabriel sighed. "Fine. But do you have to shoot at us?"

Another barrage of shots sent sparks flying from the computer consoles. There was a pause.

"Are you all still alive?"

"Yes."

"Then yeah, we have to keep shooting at you."

"Sorry, pal." Chipped in the second mercenary. "It's nothing personal."

"Oh, well then." Balthazar rolled his eyes. "As long as it's not personal."

"Uh, guys?" Dean looked around, brow furrowed. "Where's Castiel?"

"Over here." Came the hissed reply, from behind an adjacent computer bank. "And I think you should move. That one's taken all it's going to take."

They crawled forwards, quickly scuffling to get into the next row of computer banks as the one behind them fizzled and ruptured, before exploding behind them in a flash of light.

"Ha!" Gabriel yelled. "You missed!"

"Gabriel, get down!" Castiel grabbed his arm and pulled him behind the computer bank with the rest of them. Castiel had gutted the computer bank he was next to, burying himself in wires and components that Dean could barely identify.

"What are you doing?"

"Saving us." He took a cigarette lighter out of his pocket, and used the flame to melt a few wires to a round piece of circuit board. He gave the mess of circuitry to Balthazar before turning to another gadget, made of what looked almost like a light bulb. "Hold this."

"What is it?"

"It's a device that should help us communicate with Sam. Worryingly, he's our last chance." Castiel flipped the cigarette lighter open again, holding the flame to the device in his hands.

"And what's that?"

Castiel smiled, took something out of his pocket and dropped it into the device. Then, he held one end of the device to his lips and inhaled. The group rolled eyes as one. Castiel shrugged, giggling slightly as he wheezed out.

"You think I'm gonna make it through this sober? Call Sam."

"Way ahead of you." Gabriel snatched the mess of wires and circuitry from Balthazar, holding it up a few inches from his face. A deluge of fire from the mercenaries' guns, incessantly raining down on the computer banks around them, sending noisy showers of sparks everywhere. "Sam? Sam can you hear me?"

"What is it?" The robot's voice droned over the hastily improvised speakers.

"Sam, we need help. There's a group of mercenaries down here who…"

There was a startled cry from the mercenaries, and a sudden stop to the gunfire. They made some gasping, choking noises, before fading into silence.

"You mean there was a group of mercenaries." Sam sighed. "I bioscanned just before you called. They didn't breathe oxygen, so I just had to override their localised atmo-generators. More senseless deaths, just so we can make a clean getaway."

"Oh… ok…" Gabriel blinked. "Thanks. You want to give us sonar guidance out of here?"

Sam heaved another heavy sigh, before groaning.

"Of course, Gabriel, I don't mind being stood out here on my own for hours on end, and I'd love to help you mortals keep your mortality."

"Sam…"

"Alright. There should be doors to your left. Follow that corridor and hide from the back-up security that will be approaching along it in approximately five point two seconds. If you survive, I'll give you further instructions."

"Thanks, Sam." Dean called, following Castiel and Balthazar. He checked his watch, more out of habit than anything, and realised it would be half eight on Earth. He might survive this Thursday after all.

(-*-)

When they made it out of the bowels of Krippketha, they found Sam waiting to walk them the short distance back to the ship. Gabriel slipped underneath the robot's arm, congratulating him on a job well done, and boasting about all the guards they both knew Gabriel didn't really bring down.

"They're sort of sweet, really." Castiel fell into step next to Dean. Balthazar was walking in front of all of them, eager to get back on the ship and go somewhere "more interesting and less wanting-us-dead".

"Yeah, sort of." Dean admitted, glancing over at Castiel. "So, thanks for making that thing back there."

"It's nothing special." Castiel shrugged. "Gabriel delights in telling me I'm the 'geek' of the family. If it saves our lives, I'm not going to complain."

"Fair enough." Dean cleared his throat. "So… what's that?" He saw a squat, ugly ship, crumpled on the ground next to theirs. Castiel stared at it.

"Probably the ship the mercenaries came here in. I'm betting those mice won't give up; we'll have to watch out for more of them."

"Why is it all… flat?" Dean tried to sum up the words. The ship had the same air about it one experiences when looking at an abandoned car, or a ruined house; sadness and futility. Sam, with his super-robot hearing, turned to face Dean.

"It was how I overrode the localised atmo-generators. Plugged myself into the ship, asked it to turn off the generators, and then talked to it. It listened for about five minutes, before… giving up."

"We need to get you emotionally reconfigured." Gabriel stared up at Sam, as they approached The Impala, to find Balthazar waiting in the open hatchway. "Remind me, next time we get near somewhere that can program GPP. Maybe get you a silicone skin, too…"

"Hey, that's a point." Castiel said, as they walked towards the bridge. "Where are we going next? We found Krippketha, which was the sole reason you stole this thing in the first place, and it was a bust."

"A bust that will now have us being pursued for trophies, if we don't move quickly." Balthazar supplemented, pouring himself a drink from the bridge's mini-bar.

"Right." Gabriel nodded, slipping out from under Sam's arm. "Well, I know I could do with some lunch. Anyone have any preferences?"

"Chinese?" Dean suggested, earning himself a slowest-kid-in-the-class glare from the assembled crew.

"You know me." Castiel shrugged. "Food is food."

"At this point, I'll take anything more exotic than bloody chicken salads." Balthazar shuddered. "I'm sorry Dean, but your race hadn't quite got the hang of cuisine."

"Somewhere to eat…" Gabriel mused, running his hands across the control panel. "And somewhere to give Sam an emotional defrag. Computer, get us out of orbit."

"Finally." Bobby grumbled, shooting the ship into start-up. "And hello to you too. Where in the hell did you get to?"

"We got waylaid." Gabriel dismissed. "Are we out of orbit yet?"

"Hold your horses, boy…"

"Gabriel?" Balthazar watched him. "Where are we going?"

"Get with the program, Balthazar." Gabriel grinned. "We're going wherever the hell we want."

"Out of orbit now."

"We've got this ship; we may as well use it… Everyone hold on to something." So saying, he brought his closed fist down on the Leap of Faith button and, with a small, quiet buzz, the ship blinked its way through the universe.

(-*-)

Prostetnic Daemon Crowley rolled his shoulders, the grey tinge of his skin made all the more unhealthy-looking by the harsh light above him. The bridge around him was dark. He stared up at the visi-screen above him.

"Know this, Crowley…" The gigantic projection of a furry face loomed overhead, its whiskers twitching. "We take no pleasure in dealing with you."

"Charming."

"It's not a personal thing." The black fur shone overhead, as the furtive black eyes bored through the camera. "All you limited dimensional creatures are the same as far as I'm concerned. But I have been told that your race gets results."

Crowley shrugged.

"We get what we are paid to get. No more, no less."

"Yes…" Lucifer the mouse squeaked, thoughtfully. "Well, since it was your Task Force who destroyed the Earth…"

"We prefer the term 'Streamlined'." Crowley interjected, standing up a little straighter. "Gives it a much less personal approach."

"Call it what you will, the Earth is no longer there. And you refuse to tell me exactly who ordered the… 'streamlining' of Earth…"

"We promise total confidentiality. Petty grudges and half-assed guesswork is much better for business than actual fact."

"Prostetnic Daemon Crowley. As you destroyed the Earth, I charge you with finding the loose end you left behind."
"Loose end?" Crowley repeated, incredulously. "We don't leave loose ends."

"Well, this time you did. A human was taken off planet with a hitchhiker…"

"And they promptly jettisoned themselves, unprotected, into space." Crowley spoke, forcefully. "I think we can dismiss…"

"They are still alive, Crowley. You and I both know they are still alive. And I don't care what you have been paid to kill this human, I will double it if you return his live brain to Krippketha."

"Double?" Crowley sneered. "How dare you assault my professionalism by suggesting I would overturn an existing contract for double pay…"

"Fine, then, triple."
"That's better." Crowley smiled, a savage glint in his eye. He bowed, slightly. "A pleasure doing business with you, sir. I hope you enjoy your return to your own dimension, and may I say how shiny your fur is looking today?"

"Flattery will not work on me, Crowley." Lucifer sighed, and the visi-screen disappeared. Crowley smirked, before turning to a nearby ship intercom.

"This is your Captain speaking. We have a new contract. We need to find and trace the Impala, and we need to detain one of the crew members. Anyone who brings me results will be rewarded. Anyone who fails to bring me results will be shot, and that's if I'm in a good mood. Tell anyone about this change of plan, and you will also be shot, if you're lucky. Someone needs to get me a drink now. And, in case you're interested, I am not in a good mood. Message ends."

Crowley stared out at the stars. Dean Winchester, it seemed, was going to be a problem. Crowley wondered what this intrepid adventurer must be like, that he could come from an under-evolved planet, survive floating unprotected in space, and escape unscathed from an attack by a group of five hired gunmen.

Must be a worthy foe, thought Crowley, as the minions began running around to get him his drink.

He had no way of knowing Dean Winchester had just become incredibly motion-sick, thrown up and passed out, much to the annoyance of his more seasoned crew. But then, they had no way of knowing they were being thought of.