If the world wasn't ending, Pacifica thought, this would be really pretty. Night had fallen on Gravity Falls, but light was still streaming in through the broken windows of the church. It cast everything in an unnatural mishmash of orange and vivid pink, and reflected off of the broken stained glass on the floor, sending showers of sparkles up the walls and along the ceiling.
Up near the altar, a few pews were shuffling around with wooden footsteps. There was a strange crunching noise from behind the altar, as if they were eating something. Pacifica didn't have any desire to see what they were eating.
It had been all she could manage to get her dad in the door, and he was still huddled up next to it. He couldn't close his lips over his one, giant, staring eye, but from how his breathing had slowed and become steady, she figured he had finally fallen asleep. As the hours had gone by, his eye had started to look really dry and painful, but she didn't know how to help him.
Outside, the cacophony of distant screams, crackling fire, and monstrous roars had almost faded into the background. Only one sound really stood out to her—the rustling of leathery wings. An eyebat had perched above the door to the church shortly after Bill had sent those creatures to eat Dipper, and it hadn't left that spot. It was like it KNEW the Northwests were there.
Pacifica wondered if Dipper had escaped. She'd heard the whole confrontation with Bill, but had been too scared to look out the window. From the sound of it, that old man he had been with had died—the one that Bill said opened the portal. She had overheard Dipper call him by name when they first came into the church, but she didn't remember it now. It's not like he had introduced him to the Northwests, or even seen them hiding. ...Maybe Bill knew there were still people in here. Maybe that's why the eyebat was lurking over the doorway.
Time passed. How much time was impossible to gauge. The clocks had stopped, and the light on floor didn't move. Every now and then, her dad shifted or whimpered. Every now and then, Pacifica would be convinced that the eyebat had probably left. Once, she had even gotten up and rested her palm against the church door to open it when she suddenly heard the leathery wings again and silently sat back down.
After a while, her eyes kept drifting to the broken stained glass window. Maybe it wasn't being watched. Dipper had climbed out of it hours before without a scratch, so she could probably manage it. The real question was whether or not her dad could. She looked over at what had been Preston Northwest, before Bill had scrambled him. His eye looked so dry and painful—it was a safe bet that he was blind now. When she led him to hide in the church, he had also had an incredibly difficult time staying on his feet. Maybe moving his ears had ruined his balance, too. He couldn't go out the window, and even if he managed it, he couldn't go far.
But Pacifica could get out. The more she caught herself looking at it, the more sure she was. She could escape. ...And maybe she could get help. Or food. She would come back for him later. After all, he was safe here, right? At least, safer than he would be out there. It was a good hiding place. He would be alright, and she wouldn't be gone very long. She might be back before he even realized she was missing. She eased to her feet, taking care not to wake him.
Pacifica crossed the sanctuary, climbed through the broken remains of the stained glass window, and made a frantic dash for the safety of the alley.