![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
droid-girl.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
crossoverficTitle: Oh The Places You'll Go (1/?)
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: The Office/Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Jim/Pam for now
Warnings: Spoilers for The Office up to end Season 5, and Supernatural end Season 4.
Crack fic, and also, not exactly fluffy.
Summary: In which Jim is possessed by a demon, Pam's world is utterly disrupted, Angela's a fallen angel and oh, Dean and Sam show up as the most poorly named FBI agents ever.
Chapter 1
Pam couldn’t be happier if she tried.
Life was just perfect, she thought as she stretched her arms out behind her. It was Friday evening, five past five, the eve of a long weekend. Her boyfriend, no fiancé and the father-to-be of her child sat two feet away at his desk. His hair was adorably rumpled, lending him that boyish air she had always, always loved. The two of them seemed to be alone in the office; even the omnipresent documentary camera crew had retired for the weekend.
These past two days, they had been trading furtive, excited smiles at each other, the only two in the world knowing the wonderful secret residing low in her belly. She still couldn’t believe it. She was going to be a wife and a mother.
Sighing in contentment, Pam pressed ‘Ctrl’, ‘Alt’ and 'Delete' on her keyboard, locking her computer for the night. She looked up, to find Jim staring at her, a goofy grin on his face.
“Hey beautiful,” He said.
“Hey yourself.” She blushed.
“Look at you…glowing.” Jim sounded admiring.
“Look at me hungry,” she replied, rousing herself and gathering her things. She locked her drawers and stood up, looking around trying to figure out if she was leaving anything behind. “This pregnant thing is worse than getting the munchies. Not that I’ve ever…you know…”
She stopped short, suddenly finding herself pressed up against Jim’s chest.
“Do you know how often I fantasized about getting you alone in the office?” he murmured, bending low enough to brush his lips against her right ear.
“Jim!” she squealed.
“No, seriously. C’mon. Take a guess.” He began to edge her towards the glass wall of Michael’s office behind her.
“Jim, c’mon, I don’t want to play right now,” she giggled, pushing him away.
“What about you?” he ignored her request, his hands pressing into her hips. “Did you ever think about it? Me bending you over that reception desk and fucking you so hard you couldn’t walk?”
Pam frowned, trying to draw away to look at her fiance’s expression. What was he playing at? She didn’t hear the door to the pantry softly opening and shutting.
“Because I’m pretty sure you did.” Jim continued, his grip on her body suddenly feeling less tender, more vice-like. His tone however, remained chillingly casual. “I know a slut when I see one.”
“Wh…what?” Pam stuttered.
“I’m just thinking, that I’ve made a mistake. I mean, you obviously spread your legs for any guy that looks at you…do I really want to be tied down to that?” her fiance said.
“Why are you saying this?” Pam asked, too shocked to feel anything else.
She didn’t have time for horror or panic either, as he backhanded her across the face. Hard. She slammed into the glass wall of Michael’s office.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
The blow must have stunned her, she thought dazedly, looking at the man in front of her. Jim’s eyes were completely black.
“Talk talk talk. That’s all you ever do.” He sounded mildly annoyed. One hand remained wrapped around her waist. The other snuck up her body, brushing over her breasts in a painfully familiar manner. Pam couldn’t speak. She didn’t know it was possible to be this frightened of a man she had thought for sure, she knew. His fingers curled around her throat. "How the hell did Roy put up with this shit?"
“Let her go.”
Pam began to choke. Her fingers clawed uselessly at the hand he had wrapped around her windpipe. As if from a great distance, she could hear Jim say, “Angela?”
Suddenly, his grip on her loosened as he howled in pain. There was a sizzling sound. She stumbled backwards, watching the man she loved bending over in agony, his head drenched. Angela stood before him, holding a dripping metal flask.
“Pam, get out!” Angela shouted at her.
She hesitated for a split second, but it was enough for Jim to spin around, lips drawn back in an actual snarl. He picked her up once again by her neck, like she was no heavier than a kitten, and threw her through the glass wall, shattering it in a loud crash. Her head struck the corner of Michael’s desk, and she knew no more.
***
The insistently throbbing pain dragged her out of the oblivion she had been floating in. Blinking, Pam looked around and found herself strapped to the front seat of Angela’s car.
“How are you feeling?” Angela asked, her voice stiff but unable to mask her concern.
“Like someone just ran my head through a lawnmower.” Pam wheezed. She remembered. “Where’s Jim?”
“We need to get you to a hospital.” The blonde woman beside her said.
“Angela, where’s Jim?” Pam persisted, her voice growing stronger. She couldn’t be sure what she wanted the answer to be. On one hand, every instinct was telling her to run, on the other…
“I don’t know how to explain this to you…” Angela sighed.
“Explain? Explain what?” the younger woman demanded.
“Look. Let’s get you checked out first.”
She wanted to argue, but the accountant flashed her a look that compelled Pam to remain silent.
***
She didn’t need stitches, thankfully, and the baby appeared to be fine despite the trauma her body had just undergone. The nurses looked suspiciously at her cuts and the bruises that lined her neck like a macabre tattoo, but she insisted that it was merely a fall that had done the damage. They didn’t seem to believe her, but they didn’t probe.
At the back of her mind, she wondered when she became the sort of woman to defend an abusive boyfriend. But. She kept flashing back to his black eyes. Something wasn’t adding up.
Outside the waiting room, Angela waited for her, flipping through a magazine. She could see, walking up, that the blonde’s knuckles were white with tension.
“Now. Now you tell me what the fuck is going on,” Pam said, standing in front of the accountant. Neither of them flinched at her use of foul language.
***
“So what you’re saying is, Jim is…possessed.” She tried desperately to keep her hands from shaking. “That’s crazy.”
The two women were sitting in a roadside diner, the kind frequented mostly by truckers.
"Can you find another explanation?” Angela asked, sipping her herbal tea calmly. “Didn’t you see the way holy water affected him? Didn’t you see his eyes?”
Pam considered her options. She stifled a hysterical laugh. Instead, she asked, “Do you know where he’s gone?”
“No,” Angela shook her head.
“We need to find him.” Pam said firmly.
“You can’t. He’s too strong. He’ll kill you.” The blonde woman shook her head.
“If he’s possessed, doesn’t it mean that he’s still in there somewhere?” Pam demanded. “That I can help him?”
“You don’t even know how to help him!” Angela lowered her voice.
“But you do!”
It was more of a plea than a statement. Pam looked desperately at Angela. This was Jim. This was her life. The other woman breathed deeply and sank backwards into her chair.
***
They drove home (home, where Jim and her had left that morning, still happy, still living their perfect dream) to find squad cars parked in front of the house, red and blue lights flashing garishly in the summer night. Neighbours peered out at the sight, looking in turns, worried and disgruntled. Pam held her head high as she stepped out of Angela’s car, and approached her wide-open front door as if there were nothing out of the ordinary. As if men in uniform were not swarming her yard, peering carefully through her windows, her carefully selected drapes, guns held in such a way that she had no doubt, were ready to be fired at a second’s notice. She could see several officers running through her home, and idly wondered how much work it was going to take to scrub away the black shoe marks they were going to leave on the carpet.
A man in a dark suit stepped close to her.
“You’re a hard woman to find Ms. Beesly.” He said grimly. He stuck his hand out. “Detective McHale.”
“I didn’t know you were looking.” Pam replied, trying to appear as smooth as unruffled as she could be, which was more than a slight trial, considering the things Angela had been telling her that night. The world she believed in, apparently, didn’t exist and never did. She ignored his proffered hand, and after a moment, he dropped it. “I was at the hospital.”
“I think you know why we’re here.” The steel in his voice belied his courtesy. “We received reports at 1725 Slough Street of a disturbance at about 5pm this evening, from the security guard on duty. When we got there, we found massive damage in the Dunder Mifflin office, and a very interesting security tape.”
She sucked in a breath. Under the bizarre circumstances she had found crashing down around her, she had not even considered the mundane issues that were bound to creep up.
“I’ve seen the tape Ms. Beesly.” The detective’s voice softened. He looked at her in such a manner as to convey his deep sympathy. “I don’t think you should be trying to protect him after what he did to you.”
Pam wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Do you know where Jim Halpert might be?” he pressed on.
“No.” she couldn’t help but feel relieved that the police didn’t know either.
“Excuse me, but is Pam under suspicion, or in any kind of trouble?” Angela asked, coming up behind her. For the first time in her life, Pam was extremely grateful for the other woman’s presence.
“No, of course not…”
“In that case, I think you and your men need to leave. If you know what happened, then you must realize that Ms. Beesly has gone through a traumatizing experience tonight. Given her fragile state of mind, and the fact that she’s pregnant…” Pam didn’t bother to ask how Angela knew, and just accepted it. “She needs a good nights’ rest. You can speak with her tomorrow.”
Detective McHale had the grace to look abashed. He dug around his pockets and fished out his business card, handing it to Pam.
“We’ll be in touch. Take care. If you know anything, if he tries to contact you…”
“Yeah ok. I know.” The young woman suddenly felt extremely exhausted, and close to collapse.
He backed away apologetically. An officer gave him the all-clear signal. Within two minutes, all squad cars were cleared from the lawn, although a black car she didn’t recognize remained parked across the street. Too tired to confront the fact that her house was now under all-night surveillance, she entered her home, Angela following close behind. The front door, although splintered on one side from where it had been kicked in by the police, managed to close. She turned around to find Angela holding a box of salt in her hands. The blonde accountant didn’t explain herself as she began to pour a thin, unbroken line of salt across the doorway.
“If you have more of this stuff somewhere, you might want to do the same,” Angela said without looking up. “Make sure it’s unbroken.”
“I don’t understand.” Pam really didn’t.
“Salt has always been a symbol of purity. Didn’t you ever pick up a Bible?” the older woman asked sharply. Ah, Pam thought. This was more familiar ground. “It’ll keep demons out.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in.
Jim. Angela meant Jim, Pam realized heartbrokenly, fighting the urge to vomit.
***
“There’s a spell I know we can use to locate Jim.” Angela said, after Pam returned, having lined every windowsill and the back door with whatever salt she could find in her pantry. “I’ll need something that belongs to him. Something he uses often.”
“What do we do when we find him?” Pam asked, hesitating.
“You perform an exorcism.”
“And you know how to do this?” the former receptionist turned saleswoman asked, frowning.
“It’s…been a long time, but I think I can teach you,” The older woman said carefully, sitting herself down on a couch.
“Who are you?” Pam asked, unmoving from her spot. Her eyes were narrowed as she studied the other woman, realizing for the first time, how little she knew of Angela. Since she met her, all she knew was that the blonde woman was self-righteously annoying, and had an unnatural affinity for cats.
“You know who I am.” The accountant shifted uncomfortably.
“No, I really don’t think I do.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“My fiancé attacked me this evening because apparently, he’s been possessed by a demon from hell. He’s wanted by the police, and there’s salt lining every possible entrance to my home to keep him out,” Pam recited. “Try me.”
“I’m an angel.” Angela said.
Pam blinked.
“Oh.” She replied.
“Ok, not an angel anymore. I fell.”
“Like Lucifer?” the pregnant woman’s eyes widened.
“No. Yes. Sort of. You know how it is, you hang out with the wrong crowd, you attend the wrong events, other people start getting ideas about your loyalties and next thing you know, you’re crashing down to earth…” Angela looked…embarrassed? “I certainly wasn’t one of those who decided it was a good idea to rise up against God and his love of your kind. Humans, that is.”
The younger woman contemplated her response.
“You’re…absolutely serious.” She said at last.
“Yes.”
“You’re an angel. A fallen angel.”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” Pam couldn’t help but reflect that this nifty little fact explained everything about her co-worker's oddly pious behaviour. Shrugging, she went in search of something personal that belonged to Jim.
***
If she tried really, really hard, she could pretend that Jim was downstairs, puttering about the kitchen, getting their cereal ready. The soreness of her throat where he had held her in a chokehold however, told her otherwise.
The young woman pushed her covers back and sat up, wishing she could fool herself into believing that everything which had transpired the previous night was just a terrible nightmare, a product of indigestion perhaps.
“Pam!” Angela’s voice shouted. “You need to see this.”
Sighing, she stood up and shuffled out of the room. The television in the living room was blaring; she arrived in time to see a photo of Jim’s smiling face displayed on the screen.
“…manhunt for Jim Halpert is underway. He was sighted last night in the company of twenty-three year old Marie Sanderson at Poor Richards, a local bar. The body of Ms. Sanderson was found this morning under an overpass. Jim Halpert, former employee of paper supplier Dunder Mifflin, is also wanted for the assault on his fiancé Ms. Pamela Beesly. Police caution that the suspect should be considered dangerous. If sighted, authorities should be notified immediately. No contact should be attempted. In sports news…”
Pam noted two things. One was that Jim was already considered fired. Two, was that the photo they were using on the news was taken from his employee file. It was six-years-old, and possibly the most unflattering photograph she had ever seen of Jim.
“Even if you got Jim back, there are going to be…repercussions.” Angela stated in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.
“I don’t care.” Pam said, looking the other woman in the eye. “I’m going to get him back one way or another. We’ll deal with the other stuff later.”
A knock came from the door. Angela looked at the pregnant woman expectantly.
“Ms. Beesly? It’s the FBI.” A man’s voice called.
Biting back another wave of nausea, the brunette walked over and opened the door, finding herself face to face with two young men in ill-fitting suits, flashing their FBI ID at her quickly.
“I’m Special Agent Cooper. This is Agent Bryson.” the man standing in front introduced with a bright smile.
“Can we come in?” the taller man asked politely, tucking his ID away into his jacket.
“Do I have a choice?” Pam asked.
“I’m afraid if you don’t, you can be charged in the obstruction of an investigation and…” the other one started.
“Ok, ok.” She stepped aside. The black car across the street was gone, she saw.
She couldn’t help but notice that the one called Agent Cooper stepped carefully over the unbroken salt line, and cast Agent Bryson an indecipherable look.
“Uh…we just have a couple of questions about…”
“Where my fiance is?” Pam lead them to the living room. She wondered what the quickest way to get rid of them was. They hadn’t performed the locating spell, not yet. Angela had insisted that she get some rest before they attempted anything. She still wasn’t even sure that she wasn’t simply going crazy.
As the small group stepped into the living room, Angela shot out of her seat, eyes burning into the young men behind her.
“We’re FBI.” Agent Bryson held one hand up in a conciliatory manner, the other reaching into his pocket to draw out his ID again. Angela said nothing. Instead, she backed up close to the fireplace. Her hands groped around her, until she found an iron poker.
“Actually, we wanted to ask you if you’ve been noticing anything strange about his behaviour before he attacked you,” Agent Cooper continued, eyeing the blonde woman carefully. “But I’m assuming you have an idea what we’re really asking,”
“Pam, get away from them.” Angela brandished the poker.
“Please, we’re just trying to help.” Agent Bryson said in a placating manner, stepping forward.
“You reek of demon.” The other woman growled. Pam gasped and ducked behind Angela.
Agent Cooper rolled his eyes. Something clicked in Pam’s mind.
“Oh my God. Agent Cooper and Bryson!” she exclaimed. “Twin Peaks!”
“Way to go on the names.” The taller one muttered.
“Dude, that was totally not what gave us away.” The other said sharply and pointedly. Pam might have been mistaken, but she could have sworn that the one calling himself ‘Bryson’ looked distinctly guilty.
“Look, it’s all a big misunderstanding. I drank some demon blood a while ago, and I guess it’s not out of my system, and anyway, how the hell did you know?” ‘Agent Bryson’ asked, drawing a weapon from his holster.
“He’s got a point sister. You better start talking.” ‘Agent Cooper’ had his own gun trained on Angela.
Pam swallowed and blurted out, “She’s an angel.”
“That doesn’t help your case.” The shorter man said. “Ma’am, Ms. Beesly, you have to believe we’re here to help. Her, on the other hand…”
Angela lowered her poker, staring hard at the two men, who continued to point their guns at her.
“Who are you?” she asked at last.
“Is it any of your business?” one of them asked harshly.
Enough was enough, Pam thought, and stepped between the two men and the self-professed fallen angel.
“Everybody just shut up. I’m trying to find out where my fiancé is, so I can help him,” she gritted out. “If you’re not here to give me a hand trying to get rid of the demon wearing his body, I’d appreciate if you get the hell out of my home.”
There was a pregnant pause as the ‘FBI agents’ seemed to hold an internal, silent debate.
“Well.” ‘Agent Cooper’ broke into a sudden grin devoid of all humour. He relaxed his pose, lowering his gun. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: The Office/Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Jim/Pam for now
Warnings: Spoilers for The Office up to end Season 5, and Supernatural end Season 4.
Crack fic, and also, not exactly fluffy.
Summary: In which Jim is possessed by a demon, Pam's world is utterly disrupted, Angela's a fallen angel and oh, Dean and Sam show up as the most poorly named FBI agents ever.
Chapter 1
Pam couldn’t be happier if she tried.
Life was just perfect, she thought as she stretched her arms out behind her. It was Friday evening, five past five, the eve of a long weekend. Her boyfriend, no fiancé and the father-to-be of her child sat two feet away at his desk. His hair was adorably rumpled, lending him that boyish air she had always, always loved. The two of them seemed to be alone in the office; even the omnipresent documentary camera crew had retired for the weekend.
These past two days, they had been trading furtive, excited smiles at each other, the only two in the world knowing the wonderful secret residing low in her belly. She still couldn’t believe it. She was going to be a wife and a mother.
Sighing in contentment, Pam pressed ‘Ctrl’, ‘Alt’ and 'Delete' on her keyboard, locking her computer for the night. She looked up, to find Jim staring at her, a goofy grin on his face.
“Hey beautiful,” He said.
“Hey yourself.” She blushed.
“Look at you…glowing.” Jim sounded admiring.
“Look at me hungry,” she replied, rousing herself and gathering her things. She locked her drawers and stood up, looking around trying to figure out if she was leaving anything behind. “This pregnant thing is worse than getting the munchies. Not that I’ve ever…you know…”
She stopped short, suddenly finding herself pressed up against Jim’s chest.
“Do you know how often I fantasized about getting you alone in the office?” he murmured, bending low enough to brush his lips against her right ear.
“Jim!” she squealed.
“No, seriously. C’mon. Take a guess.” He began to edge her towards the glass wall of Michael’s office behind her.
“Jim, c’mon, I don’t want to play right now,” she giggled, pushing him away.
“What about you?” he ignored her request, his hands pressing into her hips. “Did you ever think about it? Me bending you over that reception desk and fucking you so hard you couldn’t walk?”
Pam frowned, trying to draw away to look at her fiance’s expression. What was he playing at? She didn’t hear the door to the pantry softly opening and shutting.
“Because I’m pretty sure you did.” Jim continued, his grip on her body suddenly feeling less tender, more vice-like. His tone however, remained chillingly casual. “I know a slut when I see one.”
“Wh…what?” Pam stuttered.
“I’m just thinking, that I’ve made a mistake. I mean, you obviously spread your legs for any guy that looks at you…do I really want to be tied down to that?” her fiance said.
“Why are you saying this?” Pam asked, too shocked to feel anything else.
She didn’t have time for horror or panic either, as he backhanded her across the face. Hard. She slammed into the glass wall of Michael’s office.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
The blow must have stunned her, she thought dazedly, looking at the man in front of her. Jim’s eyes were completely black.
“Talk talk talk. That’s all you ever do.” He sounded mildly annoyed. One hand remained wrapped around her waist. The other snuck up her body, brushing over her breasts in a painfully familiar manner. Pam couldn’t speak. She didn’t know it was possible to be this frightened of a man she had thought for sure, she knew. His fingers curled around her throat. "How the hell did Roy put up with this shit?"
“Let her go.”
Pam began to choke. Her fingers clawed uselessly at the hand he had wrapped around her windpipe. As if from a great distance, she could hear Jim say, “Angela?”
Suddenly, his grip on her loosened as he howled in pain. There was a sizzling sound. She stumbled backwards, watching the man she loved bending over in agony, his head drenched. Angela stood before him, holding a dripping metal flask.
“Pam, get out!” Angela shouted at her.
She hesitated for a split second, but it was enough for Jim to spin around, lips drawn back in an actual snarl. He picked her up once again by her neck, like she was no heavier than a kitten, and threw her through the glass wall, shattering it in a loud crash. Her head struck the corner of Michael’s desk, and she knew no more.
***
The insistently throbbing pain dragged her out of the oblivion she had been floating in. Blinking, Pam looked around and found herself strapped to the front seat of Angela’s car.
“How are you feeling?” Angela asked, her voice stiff but unable to mask her concern.
“Like someone just ran my head through a lawnmower.” Pam wheezed. She remembered. “Where’s Jim?”
“We need to get you to a hospital.” The blonde woman beside her said.
“Angela, where’s Jim?” Pam persisted, her voice growing stronger. She couldn’t be sure what she wanted the answer to be. On one hand, every instinct was telling her to run, on the other…
“I don’t know how to explain this to you…” Angela sighed.
“Explain? Explain what?” the younger woman demanded.
“Look. Let’s get you checked out first.”
She wanted to argue, but the accountant flashed her a look that compelled Pam to remain silent.
***
She didn’t need stitches, thankfully, and the baby appeared to be fine despite the trauma her body had just undergone. The nurses looked suspiciously at her cuts and the bruises that lined her neck like a macabre tattoo, but she insisted that it was merely a fall that had done the damage. They didn’t seem to believe her, but they didn’t probe.
At the back of her mind, she wondered when she became the sort of woman to defend an abusive boyfriend. But. She kept flashing back to his black eyes. Something wasn’t adding up.
Outside the waiting room, Angela waited for her, flipping through a magazine. She could see, walking up, that the blonde’s knuckles were white with tension.
“Now. Now you tell me what the fuck is going on,” Pam said, standing in front of the accountant. Neither of them flinched at her use of foul language.
***
“So what you’re saying is, Jim is…possessed.” She tried desperately to keep her hands from shaking. “That’s crazy.”
The two women were sitting in a roadside diner, the kind frequented mostly by truckers.
"Can you find another explanation?” Angela asked, sipping her herbal tea calmly. “Didn’t you see the way holy water affected him? Didn’t you see his eyes?”
Pam considered her options. She stifled a hysterical laugh. Instead, she asked, “Do you know where he’s gone?”
“No,” Angela shook her head.
“We need to find him.” Pam said firmly.
“You can’t. He’s too strong. He’ll kill you.” The blonde woman shook her head.
“If he’s possessed, doesn’t it mean that he’s still in there somewhere?” Pam demanded. “That I can help him?”
“You don’t even know how to help him!” Angela lowered her voice.
“But you do!”
It was more of a plea than a statement. Pam looked desperately at Angela. This was Jim. This was her life. The other woman breathed deeply and sank backwards into her chair.
***
They drove home (home, where Jim and her had left that morning, still happy, still living their perfect dream) to find squad cars parked in front of the house, red and blue lights flashing garishly in the summer night. Neighbours peered out at the sight, looking in turns, worried and disgruntled. Pam held her head high as she stepped out of Angela’s car, and approached her wide-open front door as if there were nothing out of the ordinary. As if men in uniform were not swarming her yard, peering carefully through her windows, her carefully selected drapes, guns held in such a way that she had no doubt, were ready to be fired at a second’s notice. She could see several officers running through her home, and idly wondered how much work it was going to take to scrub away the black shoe marks they were going to leave on the carpet.
A man in a dark suit stepped close to her.
“You’re a hard woman to find Ms. Beesly.” He said grimly. He stuck his hand out. “Detective McHale.”
“I didn’t know you were looking.” Pam replied, trying to appear as smooth as unruffled as she could be, which was more than a slight trial, considering the things Angela had been telling her that night. The world she believed in, apparently, didn’t exist and never did. She ignored his proffered hand, and after a moment, he dropped it. “I was at the hospital.”
“I think you know why we’re here.” The steel in his voice belied his courtesy. “We received reports at 1725 Slough Street of a disturbance at about 5pm this evening, from the security guard on duty. When we got there, we found massive damage in the Dunder Mifflin office, and a very interesting security tape.”
She sucked in a breath. Under the bizarre circumstances she had found crashing down around her, she had not even considered the mundane issues that were bound to creep up.
“I’ve seen the tape Ms. Beesly.” The detective’s voice softened. He looked at her in such a manner as to convey his deep sympathy. “I don’t think you should be trying to protect him after what he did to you.”
Pam wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Do you know where Jim Halpert might be?” he pressed on.
“No.” she couldn’t help but feel relieved that the police didn’t know either.
“Excuse me, but is Pam under suspicion, or in any kind of trouble?” Angela asked, coming up behind her. For the first time in her life, Pam was extremely grateful for the other woman’s presence.
“No, of course not…”
“In that case, I think you and your men need to leave. If you know what happened, then you must realize that Ms. Beesly has gone through a traumatizing experience tonight. Given her fragile state of mind, and the fact that she’s pregnant…” Pam didn’t bother to ask how Angela knew, and just accepted it. “She needs a good nights’ rest. You can speak with her tomorrow.”
Detective McHale had the grace to look abashed. He dug around his pockets and fished out his business card, handing it to Pam.
“We’ll be in touch. Take care. If you know anything, if he tries to contact you…”
“Yeah ok. I know.” The young woman suddenly felt extremely exhausted, and close to collapse.
He backed away apologetically. An officer gave him the all-clear signal. Within two minutes, all squad cars were cleared from the lawn, although a black car she didn’t recognize remained parked across the street. Too tired to confront the fact that her house was now under all-night surveillance, she entered her home, Angela following close behind. The front door, although splintered on one side from where it had been kicked in by the police, managed to close. She turned around to find Angela holding a box of salt in her hands. The blonde accountant didn’t explain herself as she began to pour a thin, unbroken line of salt across the doorway.
“If you have more of this stuff somewhere, you might want to do the same,” Angela said without looking up. “Make sure it’s unbroken.”
“I don’t understand.” Pam really didn’t.
“Salt has always been a symbol of purity. Didn’t you ever pick up a Bible?” the older woman asked sharply. Ah, Pam thought. This was more familiar ground. “It’ll keep demons out.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in.
Jim. Angela meant Jim, Pam realized heartbrokenly, fighting the urge to vomit.
***
“There’s a spell I know we can use to locate Jim.” Angela said, after Pam returned, having lined every windowsill and the back door with whatever salt she could find in her pantry. “I’ll need something that belongs to him. Something he uses often.”
“What do we do when we find him?” Pam asked, hesitating.
“You perform an exorcism.”
“And you know how to do this?” the former receptionist turned saleswoman asked, frowning.
“It’s…been a long time, but I think I can teach you,” The older woman said carefully, sitting herself down on a couch.
“Who are you?” Pam asked, unmoving from her spot. Her eyes were narrowed as she studied the other woman, realizing for the first time, how little she knew of Angela. Since she met her, all she knew was that the blonde woman was self-righteously annoying, and had an unnatural affinity for cats.
“You know who I am.” The accountant shifted uncomfortably.
“No, I really don’t think I do.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“My fiancé attacked me this evening because apparently, he’s been possessed by a demon from hell. He’s wanted by the police, and there’s salt lining every possible entrance to my home to keep him out,” Pam recited. “Try me.”
“I’m an angel.” Angela said.
Pam blinked.
“Oh.” She replied.
“Ok, not an angel anymore. I fell.”
“Like Lucifer?” the pregnant woman’s eyes widened.
“No. Yes. Sort of. You know how it is, you hang out with the wrong crowd, you attend the wrong events, other people start getting ideas about your loyalties and next thing you know, you’re crashing down to earth…” Angela looked…embarrassed? “I certainly wasn’t one of those who decided it was a good idea to rise up against God and his love of your kind. Humans, that is.”
The younger woman contemplated her response.
“You’re…absolutely serious.” She said at last.
“Yes.”
“You’re an angel. A fallen angel.”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” Pam couldn’t help but reflect that this nifty little fact explained everything about her co-worker's oddly pious behaviour. Shrugging, she went in search of something personal that belonged to Jim.
***
If she tried really, really hard, she could pretend that Jim was downstairs, puttering about the kitchen, getting their cereal ready. The soreness of her throat where he had held her in a chokehold however, told her otherwise.
The young woman pushed her covers back and sat up, wishing she could fool herself into believing that everything which had transpired the previous night was just a terrible nightmare, a product of indigestion perhaps.
“Pam!” Angela’s voice shouted. “You need to see this.”
Sighing, she stood up and shuffled out of the room. The television in the living room was blaring; she arrived in time to see a photo of Jim’s smiling face displayed on the screen.
“…manhunt for Jim Halpert is underway. He was sighted last night in the company of twenty-three year old Marie Sanderson at Poor Richards, a local bar. The body of Ms. Sanderson was found this morning under an overpass. Jim Halpert, former employee of paper supplier Dunder Mifflin, is also wanted for the assault on his fiancé Ms. Pamela Beesly. Police caution that the suspect should be considered dangerous. If sighted, authorities should be notified immediately. No contact should be attempted. In sports news…”
Pam noted two things. One was that Jim was already considered fired. Two, was that the photo they were using on the news was taken from his employee file. It was six-years-old, and possibly the most unflattering photograph she had ever seen of Jim.
“Even if you got Jim back, there are going to be…repercussions.” Angela stated in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.
“I don’t care.” Pam said, looking the other woman in the eye. “I’m going to get him back one way or another. We’ll deal with the other stuff later.”
A knock came from the door. Angela looked at the pregnant woman expectantly.
“Ms. Beesly? It’s the FBI.” A man’s voice called.
Biting back another wave of nausea, the brunette walked over and opened the door, finding herself face to face with two young men in ill-fitting suits, flashing their FBI ID at her quickly.
“I’m Special Agent Cooper. This is Agent Bryson.” the man standing in front introduced with a bright smile.
“Can we come in?” the taller man asked politely, tucking his ID away into his jacket.
“Do I have a choice?” Pam asked.
“I’m afraid if you don’t, you can be charged in the obstruction of an investigation and…” the other one started.
“Ok, ok.” She stepped aside. The black car across the street was gone, she saw.
She couldn’t help but notice that the one called Agent Cooper stepped carefully over the unbroken salt line, and cast Agent Bryson an indecipherable look.
“Uh…we just have a couple of questions about…”
“Where my fiance is?” Pam lead them to the living room. She wondered what the quickest way to get rid of them was. They hadn’t performed the locating spell, not yet. Angela had insisted that she get some rest before they attempted anything. She still wasn’t even sure that she wasn’t simply going crazy.
As the small group stepped into the living room, Angela shot out of her seat, eyes burning into the young men behind her.
“We’re FBI.” Agent Bryson held one hand up in a conciliatory manner, the other reaching into his pocket to draw out his ID again. Angela said nothing. Instead, she backed up close to the fireplace. Her hands groped around her, until she found an iron poker.
“Actually, we wanted to ask you if you’ve been noticing anything strange about his behaviour before he attacked you,” Agent Cooper continued, eyeing the blonde woman carefully. “But I’m assuming you have an idea what we’re really asking,”
“Pam, get away from them.” Angela brandished the poker.
“Please, we’re just trying to help.” Agent Bryson said in a placating manner, stepping forward.
“You reek of demon.” The other woman growled. Pam gasped and ducked behind Angela.
Agent Cooper rolled his eyes. Something clicked in Pam’s mind.
“Oh my God. Agent Cooper and Bryson!” she exclaimed. “Twin Peaks!”
“Way to go on the names.” The taller one muttered.
“Dude, that was totally not what gave us away.” The other said sharply and pointedly. Pam might have been mistaken, but she could have sworn that the one calling himself ‘Bryson’ looked distinctly guilty.
“Look, it’s all a big misunderstanding. I drank some demon blood a while ago, and I guess it’s not out of my system, and anyway, how the hell did you know?” ‘Agent Bryson’ asked, drawing a weapon from his holster.
“He’s got a point sister. You better start talking.” ‘Agent Cooper’ had his own gun trained on Angela.
Pam swallowed and blurted out, “She’s an angel.”
“That doesn’t help your case.” The shorter man said. “Ma’am, Ms. Beesly, you have to believe we’re here to help. Her, on the other hand…”
Angela lowered her poker, staring hard at the two men, who continued to point their guns at her.
“Who are you?” she asked at last.
“Is it any of your business?” one of them asked harshly.
Enough was enough, Pam thought, and stepped between the two men and the self-professed fallen angel.
“Everybody just shut up. I’m trying to find out where my fiancé is, so I can help him,” she gritted out. “If you’re not here to give me a hand trying to get rid of the demon wearing his body, I’d appreciate if you get the hell out of my home.”
There was a pregnant pause as the ‘FBI agents’ seemed to hold an internal, silent debate.
“Well.” ‘Agent Cooper’ broke into a sudden grin devoid of all humour. He relaxed his pose, lowering his gun. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}