Disclaim, Allison!: I don't own The Office, or anything regarding The Office. I do, however, own a stapler. That kinda has to do with The Office, right? Oh, and I don't own/have anything to do with YouTube, either.
CSIMel: thanks for the review:-)
"Mike, are you saying that we stole Dwight's…Dwight?" Darryl wants to know.
"I'm not saying that," Michael answers, chuckling a little nervously and casting a concerned look at the camera. "Ha, I, I'm not saying that at all. I just, you know, wanted you guys to keep a lookout for the little guy, that's all.
"I mean, look at Dwight's face!" Dwight is standing right next to Michael, nearly on top of him, so when Michael turns to point at him, he pokes him in the eye.
Dwight lets out a small yelp and doubles over, clutching his eye, or trying as hard as he could to clutch it; eyes are a pretty hard body part to clutch.
Michael stares at him for a second, and waits for Dwight to let out a small sob. "Y'see?" he asks desperately. "Y'see how depressed he is? Just…just keep an eye out, okay?"
"There's a reward," Jim pitches in.
Roy turns to him. "What's the reward, Halpert?"
Jim turns to him. "Twenty-five bucks."
"And I'll buy you your lunch for three months!" Dwight adds, taking his hand away from his eye, which is rapidly swelling and bloodshot. The majority of people in the room wince when they make eye contact with him.
"Aw, Dwight, put that away!" Michael scolds, taking Dwight's wrist and maneuvering his hand to cover his eye again. "Nobody wants to see that!"
"Was it just me, or did Dwight seem to enjoy Michael's hand on his wrist?" Jim asks mischieviously, rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger. He pauses. "Wait…there's Angela. Yeah. Never mind."
It's nearly five o'clock, and no one has found Little Dwight yet. Dwight begins to get even more panicky than he already was, and Kelly suggests that he take a nap.
"A nap," Ryan repeats blandly. "Because, you know, everyone who's missing a bobblehead takes a nap. Definitely." He stares at the camera for a few seconds. "A nap."
Dwight walks hesitantly through the office, clutching a flashlight in one hand. A makeshift eye patch made of paper and a bunch of rubber bands broken and tied together is strapped across his poked eye, and he stumbles a bit through the darkness. He shines the light on the clock, which reads 9:30. In the P.M.
"I know it's not 9:30, Jim," he says sternly. "It's more than a piece of cake to change the clocks around. I should know; I've done it before."
No response.
"Michael?" he calls out hesitantly. "Michael, I hope you give Jim a pretty big demotion for this! Demote him to below Assistant Regional Manager!"
Still no response.
Dwight holds one hand out, patting it along the wall as he walks, trying to feel his way around the dark office. The flashlight helps a little bit, but a volunteer sheriff on the weekends knows that batteries don't last long, especially when they weren't put in the fridge first.
All of a sudden, Dwight feels his foot fall into something. He gasps as his knees buckle, but he quickly regains his composure. Straightening his tie, he points the flashlight down and sees that his foot is in Kevin's electric footbath that he gave himself during the Yankee Swap Christmas party last year.
"Damn it, Kevin," he mutters. "Didn't you bring this home? Where has it been this whole time?"
There's a rustle of papers, and Dwight quickly turns the flashlight toward the noise. Inside the yellow orb of light is Little Dwight, a broken rubber band tied around his neck in the style of a noose, with more rubber bands attached, leaving the bobblehead hanging helplessly from the top of that filing cabinet with Homer Simpson hanging out on top of it.
"NO!"
Jim peeks over at Dwight, who's sitting slumped over his desk, his head rolling around as much as it can without being decapitated, muttering, "No, no, no!"
Jim casts one of his signature looks at the camera, then pokes Dwight with a pencil.
"No!" Dwight yells, his head shooting up immediately.
"Little nightmare, there, Dwight?" Jim asks.
Dwight stares angrily at him. "No," he answers, straightening his tie, just like he did in the dream. "Not at all. A good Assistant Regional Manager does not fall asleep on the job."
Angela casts a concerned look Dwight's way.
"He fell asleep on the job," Jim tells the camera simply.
"Ohmigod, did you hear Dwight?" Kelly asks us, grinning a little. "I've never heard that before! Nobody's fallen asleep in the office. Well, people have. Creed does it almost daily, but I mean, no one's actually had a dream like that!"
"Don't tell me you wouldn't have yelled, too," Dwight insists to the cameraman. "What if your bobblehead had been hanged?" He waits for a response. "Well, just imagine that you did have one, okay?"
"I got that all on video on my phone," Kevin confides in us, grinning. "I'm gonna post it on YouTube later."