Chapter Text
16.08.2012
The morning sun filtering through the massive, arched windows of the Northwest Manor offered absolutely no warmth.
The mud from the night before was completely gone. The carpets were spotless, the shattered antiques had been swept away, and the heavy oak doors were firmly shut against the rest of Gravity Falls.
But the air inside the formal dining room was suffocatingly thin.
Pacifica stood perfectly straight at the end of the long mahogany table, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Her fingernails dug into her own palms, leaving sharp, crescent-shaped indentations in her skin.
At the opposite end of the table, her parents sat in absolute, terrifying silence.
Preston Northwest slowly set his porcelain teacup onto its matching saucer. The tiny clink echoed like a gunshot in the vast room.
He reached into his breast pocket.
Pacifica’s heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat.
Preston pulled out the tiny silver bell. He didn't look angry; he looked disappointed, which was infinitely worse.
DING.
The sharp, metallic chime sliced through the quiet room. It hit Pacifica like a physical strike. Her shoulders immediately tensed, her chin dropping a fraction of an inch in an involuntary, deeply conditioned response.
"You opened the gates," Preston said, his voice quiet, cold, and entirely devoid of affection. "You let the town into our home. You embarrassed this family, Pacifica."
"I... I saved the guests," Pacifica managed to whisper, her voice trembling as she stared at the polished wood. "The ghost was going to turn everyone into wood."
DING.
She flinched violently, her eyes squeezing shut.
"We are Northwests," Priscilla added softly from her seat, not even looking up from her breakfast pastry. "We do not associate with the town, and we certainly do not defy our legacy for them. You acted like a commoner."
Preston rested his hand over the bell, his blue eyes locking onto his daughter with a piercing, unyielding glare.
"You will remain in your quarters for the rest of the week. You will reflect on what it means to carry this name. Do I make myself clear?"
Pacifica stared at her father. Her lungs felt like they were being crushed by a vice.
"Yes, Father."
Upstairs, the heavy door to her bedroom clicked shut, and the absolute isolation finally settled over her.
Pacifica leaned back against the wood, sliding down until she hit the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms. The house was perfectly silent again, but her mind was screaming.
"You're just another link in the world's worst chain. "
Dipper’s harsh words from the party echoed in her head. But then, right behind them, came the memory of his face when she had actually pulled the lever. He had looked at her like she was a hero. Like she was someone entirely different from the two cold people sitting in the dining room below.
She looked around her pristine, gilded bedroom. It wasn't a room. It was a holding cell.
If she stayed in here for a week, she was going to lose her mind. She needed air. Real air, not the filtered, climate-controlled oxygen of the estate.
Moving quietly, Pacifica bypassed her closet full of stiff silk dresses. She pulled out a simple pair of designer jeans and a relatively plain pale blue blouse. She slipped on her sneakers, unlocked her window, and climbed out onto the trellis.
The walk through the woods was hot, humid, and entirely unglamorous. By the time the Mystery Shack came into view, Pacifica's shoes were dusty, and her perfectly styled hair was frizzing in the August heat.
She stood at the edge of the dirt parking lot, staring at the rundown, bizarre tourist trap.
She wasn't entirely sure why she was here. Well, she was. Her mansion was currently suffocating under the cold, terrifying silence of her parents' fury, and the Shack, despite smelling faintly of pine needles and cheap floor wax, was oddly safe.The gift shop smelled like pine needles, dust, and cheap floor wax. It was loud, chaotic, and wonderfully alive.
Behind the counter, Dipper was hunched over a clipboard, clicking a pen as he tried to take inventory of a box of fake eyeballs. Mabel was sitting on the floor, untangling a massive knot of neon yarn.
The bell above the door jingled.
Dipper looked up. He froze, the pen hovering in the air.
Pacifica stood in the doorway, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. She looked exhausted, pale, and completely out of place among the cheap souvenirs.
"Pacifica?" Dipper asked, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. He set the clipboard down. "What are you doing here?"
Pacifica swallowed hard. Her defensive walls immediately tried to slide into place. She lifted her chin, preparing to drop a sarcastic insult about the dust on the shelves.
But she couldn't. She was too tired.
"I... I just needed to get out of the house," Pacifica admitted, her voice lacking its usual bite. She looked at the floorboards. "It was too quiet."
Mabel dropped her yarn, scrambling to her feet. She didn't make a joke. She didn't bring up the party or the mud. She just took one look at Pacifica's rigid, tense shoulders and understood.
"Well, it's definitely not quiet here," Mabel said gently, offering a small, surprisingly subdued smile. She pointed to a slightly lopsided wooden stool near the counter. "You can sit there if you want. Dipper is currently losing a fight against a box of plastic eyeballs."
Dipper rubbed the back of his neck, shooting his sister a look before turning his attention back to Pacifica. He didn't push for details. He didn't ask what her parents had said. He just saw a girl who looked like she needed a safe place to breathe.
"Yeah," Dipper said, his voice softening. He grabbed a cold bottle of Pitt Cola from the mini-fridge under the register and slid it across the counter toward the stool. "Take a seat. It's hot outside."
Pacifica walked over, her footsteps quiet on the wooden floor. She sat down on the lopsided stool, wrapping her hands around the cold glass bottle.
She listened to the low hum of the vending machine and the distant, muffled sound of Stan yelling at the television in the next room. It was the most mundane, ordinary place in the world.
The blonde took a deep breath, and for the first time all morning, her lungs actually filled with air.