When Dwight got the first text message, he was confused. What was The Pit? And why was Jim there? And why did Jim need his help?

When the second message came through, Dwight dropped his lightsaber and pulled his shirt back on.

"D?" Angela asked as he ran from the room.

He ran back in, scooped up the lightsaber, and was gone again.

"Keep the cookies warm till I get back!" he yelled over his shoulder.

*  *  *  *  *

As he sped down the country lane, Dwight decided (correctly) that he might need help - someone to do the heavy lifting. Michael was too important, would be busy on a Friday night. Creed was too old, Stanley too out of shape. Oscar did owe him a favor. In the end, though, he called Kevin.

If Dwight had to make a quick getaway, Kevin would make good, slow bait for his pursuers.

*  *  *  *  *

Kevin was waiting when Dwight pulled up.

"Well? What did you find out?" Dwight asked.

"It's a club."

"How do you know?"

"I Googled ‘the pit' and ‘new york'."

"Why would Jim be at a club in Manhattan?"

"It is Friday night," Kevin said, looking back at his house wistfully.

"But what does the six-fingered man have to do with this?"

"The who?"

"I'll explain on the way."

*  *  *  *  *

"It's gotta be here. This is the block."

Dwight looked up and down the street. "I don't see a club, though. No neon, no bouncer, no music.... The six-fingered man was here, though, I sense it."

"You do?" Kevin was doubtful.

"Shh! Let me concentrate." Dwight closed his eyes and raised his lightsaber. "Grossvater, hear me. I ask your help to find the one who dishonored the Schrute family name. Guide my saber, Grossvater."

Kevin watched as Dwight held the toy up and spun slowly in circles. When Kevin rolled his eyes, he noticed an old sign on the wall above him.

"Uh, Dwight..."

"Be quiet, I'm almost there!" Dwight stumbled off the curb.

Kevin followed a line down from the edge of the sign and saw a small button in the wall. He pushed it. A door appeared in the wall.

"Dwight, we're in."

"What? Oh! Thank you, Grossvater!"

Kevin looked down at the saber. "You do know that's not real, right?"

"Duh. The six-fingered man doesn't know that, though, does he? Let's go!"

When Kevin finally caught up to Dwight, he was pounding on the club's secure inner door. "It's locked!"

"Doesn't matter," said Kevin.

Dwight turned to find Kevin pointing to a pile of arms and legs propped up under the stairs. They stooped down to peer at Jim.

Kevin frowned. "He looks dead."

"Whoa! What did Kevin mean, ‘He looks dead'?  Jim can't be dead!"

"Can I continue?"

"But who gets Packer?"

"Nobody. Packer lives to date at least a couple more women."

"Ack! Are you kidding me?!"

"You know, you kill the momentum every time you interrupt me."

She heaves a great sigh. "Fine."

Anyway, Kevin frowned. "He looks dead."

Dwight poked Jim with the lightsaber. Jim snorted. "Dead drunk, more like. C'mon, help me get him up."

They wrestled Jim out from under the stairs. Dwight slapped his face. "Jim? Jim!" He sighed. "No use. Damn! Only he can tell me where the six-fingered man is."

"What should we do?"

"We have to revive him. Bring him up to the car. I have an idea." And Dwight was gone.

Kevin looked at Jim, out cold, and shrugged. He lifted him up over his shoulder and began climbing the stairs. It took a while. There was more to Jim than there appeared to be.

Dwight helped Kevin stuff Jim in the backseat of the car, then they were off again.

*  *  *  *  *

Kevin did his best to hold Jim upright. "Why are we here?"

"The Temp lives here." Dwight jabbed the doorbell again.

"Oh. Wait, that doesn't answer my question."

The door opened, and very sleepy and somewhat cranky eyes looked at Dwight.

"Oh my God, what do you want?"

"We need your help," said Dwight.

"Do you know what time it is?"

Dwight checked his watch. "3:48:16 a.m."

The Temp squinted. "Is that Jim?"

"Yes. He's passed out drunk."

"And heavy," Kevin added, carrying Jim inside and laying him down in the hallway.

"We need your help to cure him," Dwight said.

The Temp shook his head. "There's no cure for that. He needs to sleep it off." He winced. "He's gonna be hurting when he wakes up."

"Exactly, and we need him to be as coherent as possible."

"Why me?"

Dwight gave the Temp a knowing look. "You said yourself you go to a lot of parties. I figured you might have... dealt with this."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go back to bed right now."

"He has an important sales meeting later today," offers Kevin, proud to have thought so quickly on his feet.

"Today's Saturday."

"Shoot," said Kevin.

Dwight jumped forward. "I need him to help me fulfill a years-long Quest for Vengeance!"

The Temp closed his eyes. "Oh, God, the Quest. I should've known." He poked Jim with a toe.

"True love," Jim mumbled.

"Ha! True love!" Dwight cried. "You can't ask for a better reason than that!"

"I don't know..."

There came a loud gasp behind them, then "Ryan!!!"

All three men turned.

"Kelly?" Dwight and Kevin asked together.

His granddaughter's giggling, her hands over her mouth, her dark eyes twinkling.

"What?"

She pokes his tie. "What was she doing at your apartment, Grandpa?"

"No comment."

"Kelly," said Ryan.

"Oh my God, Ryan! You heard him - he said True Love! True Love, Ryan."

"Kelly, please."

"Ryan, you have to help him! Just look at him - how's he going to find his True Love like that?" She poked Jim with a toe, too. "Wow, he snores really loudly."

"Kelly! Why don't you go back to... doing that jigsaw puzzle."

"Ryan Howard! If you ignore Jim when he needs you most, you're no better than that creep, Todd Packer!"

"That's a little over the top-"

"Packer, Packer, Packer-"

Dwight pulled them apart. "If you help us, Jim will stop Pam from going on that date with Packer!"

Ryan put a hand over Kelly's mouth. "If I do this, Packer suffers?"

"Big time," smiled Dwight.

Ryan nodded. "I'll do it."

"Woo-hoo!" cried Kelly.

Ten minutes later, Kevin stuffed Jim into the car a second time. Dwight looked over the list in his hand.

"Just mix all of that together, and make him drink the whole thing," Ryan said. "He won't thank you till much later."

"Got it. Thanks."

"Sure."

"Good luck, guys!" called Kelly. "Eeeeeeee! True Love!" She jumped up and down, and kissed Ryan, who sighed and padded back to bed.

*  *  *  *  *

"That looks disgusting," said Kevin.

"Just focus on waking him up," ordered Dwight.

It was almost four in the afternoon on Saturday. Jim had been unconscious most of the day, but had begun to stir a half hour before.

"Jim?" Kevin said softly, shaking his shoulder.

"Unnnhhhhh," said Jim. He frowned as he opened his eyes. "Too bright," he croaked, raising a hand for shade. He looked around him. "Am I in a barn?"

"We thought you might-"

Jim sat straight up, then groaned, bent over and heaved.

"-barf," said Kevin as he jumped out of range.

Jim sank back down onto the straw and moaned. "Pam. Pam and Packer."

"They go out tonight."

Jim shook his head. "No, it happened last night."

"Nooo," said Dwight. "Packer hasn't left the Newark area in the last three days."

Jim looked at Dwight. "How do you know?"

Dwight shrugged. "I put a tracking device on his car months ago. He showed up unannounced one time too many."

Jim stared at him, then shook his head as if to clear it. "So Pam hasn't gone out with Packer yet? Where is she? Where am I? What is that?" He pointed to the concoction Dwight held.

"Let me explain," said Dwight. "On second thought, that would take too long. Let me summarize: You're in my barn. This is a drink that Ryan assures me will cure your hangover. Pam's date with Packer is tonight, but they're meeting with Toby at five to sign the paperwork."

"Paperwork?"

"It's surprisingly official," Dwight muses. "So. That gives us less than an hour to drive to the office, get Tate to let us in, and stop the signing. Question: You mentioned the six-fingered man..."

Jim held up a hand to stop him. "In a second. Give me that horrifying mixture." Dwight handed it over. Jim felt his stomach roil again, but he closed his eyes, held his breath, and drank the whole thing. "Auuuggghhh! What was in that?!"

"Beet juice, mayonnai-"

"Never mind! Ech. Okay... the guy you've been looking for, the one who killed your avatar? He sits in front of me in Stamford. His name's Andy, but he logs in as BFD."

Kevin giggled.

Jim nodded. "Yeah, it makes Andy giggle, too."

"Excellent!" Dwight said. "Kevin, help him up. Let's go!" He jogged toward the door.

"Wait, what's the plan?" Jim asked as he struggled to stand.

"We'll figure something out on the way!" Dwight called back.

*  *  *  *  *

When Pam pulled into the parking lot, there were three cars there already. Tate, Toby, and Packer. She gripped the steering wheel and took a deep breath. For charity, she told herself, and climbed out of her car. The sidewalk to the building looked very long, and her feet felt very heavy, and Pam thought for a moment that maybe this was another dream. But she knew it wasn't, and so she walked.

"Hello, Tate," she offered as she waited for the elevator.

"Mm-hm."

She managed to hit the right button for the second floor, and to walk to the office door and open it. No voices. They must be at Toby's desk, Pam thought. So she rounded the corner. Then she stopped.

Jim's desk.

It would never be Ryan's. Always Jim's. The official headquarters for pranks. The home of his smile and his voice and his laugh. The place where, in a soft blue glow, he had kissed her, silent and determined. She looked at it a hundred times a day, wishing him back.

She wished once more, then continued on to Toby's office. When she arrived, she received a leer and a pitying look.

Toby sighed. "Let's get started."