Time ticked by painfully slowly in the jail cell. The crushing, continuous soundtrack of white noise, air conditioning and rain was echoing in Pacifica's head.

She was growing antsy. It gave her an increasingly unpleasant headache. The Northwest heir found herself getting painfully aware of every sense that she had.

Every creak of the wooden bench. Every tap, drip and splash of rain. Every hiss of the television's white noise. Every rumble of thunder. The droning, metallic whine of the air conditioning unit. Her heartbeat. Her breathing.

Was she having a panic attack? She couldn't be having a panic attack. She was Pacifica Northwest. She'd been in worse situations!

But the voice kept nagging her, that judgemental voice that sounded like pure, ancestral expectation.

You're in prison? How did it all go so wrong? How did you become such a terrible person so quickly? Only bad people end up here.

Pacifica was no dumb blonde there to toe a party line, but she was still a kid . A little rebellion was fine. But this? Prison? A life behind bars?

They couldn't do this. Could they? She was just a kid! But… They did it for Gideon. And Gideon didn't blow up a high street and mind wipe the mayor…

She had been proud. She had been so proud of how they tackled Gerron Street, but now…

She moistened her lips, looked to her boyfriend and, finally, spoke up. "Dipper, do you think we… got things wrong?"

Dipper blinked and turned to Pacifica. "What do you mean?"

"You gotta admit, we kinda - we kinda hit things like a sledgehammer." Pacifica huffed. "We see something weird and we like, just, storm in?"

He stood up and sat next to her on the splintered wooden bench, putting an arm firmly around his girlfriend. "Hey. We do what we think is right."

"But what if we were wrong?"

"Then I don't wanna be right."

The worried, downtrodden and still distinctly panicked socialite gazed at him, her blue eyes widening. "But Dipper…what if we go to prison? Like, real prison?"

"Then we'll break out."

She snorted and shoved him with a brave smile. It didn't do much to mask the tears in her eyes.

"Hey, I'm just saying, it can't be that difficult!" Dipper laughed, shoving her back. He opted not to raise attention to her crying. "Grunkle Stan has gotten out of eight prisons in six different counties."

"The kid's right." Stan grinned - though it was blatant mock confidence. "No prison on Earth can hold Stanley Pines. I guarantee we'll be walkin' outta here high and dry in no time."

"We got a bailout!" Blubs shouted as he walked into the holding area, his keys jingling.

"Ha! See, whadya know?" Stan beamed. "We're outta here! And I didn't even have to dig a hole into a sewer main!"

Their jubilation quickly disappeared as Preston and Priscilla walked in behind the sheriff.

Blubs looked crestfallen as Preston stood there, his shoulders back, his nose lifted, his eyes glaring down at Pacifica and Dipper in disapproval. The disdain from the man was tangible. It only hardened further when Pacifica, rather than cowering, glared back at him.

"We're taking you home." He said, firmly.

Pacifica wrinkled her nose and glowered at her estranged dad. "I'm not leaving."

"You want to stay in this cell forever?" He snorted. "I'm offering you an olive branch, daughter."

The sinuses deep inside Pacifica's mind were screaming. Take it! Take the olive branch! You need to get out of here!

"Hey, hey!" Stanley abruptly kicked into the conversation, with all of the subtlety of the fist he wished to plant on the millionaire's nose. "Preston, you told me Pacifica could stay where she was!"

"I didn't figure that being in prison, Pines."

Pacifica was going to retort, to rebel against those nagging thoughts, when - to her surprise - Dipper stood and pulled her to her feet.

"You should go." He said, laying his hands on her shoulder.

"What?"

"This wasn't meant to happen. You aren't part of this."

"Like hell, I'm not part of this!"

"Dipper's right! Get going, Paz!" Mabel piped up. "If you can get outta here, run!"

"You're gonna be better off out there than you are here with us." Dipper added. He slipped his hands down her arms and took her hands warmly. "Trust me."

"I- I don't want to-"

Dipper's face darkened. He pulled her closer and, quietly, mumbled into her ear. "We'll catch up with you as soon as we're outta here."

She blinked and looked at him in bewilderment, tightening her hands around his. "I-"

" Trust me , Paz." He said, this time far louder. "It's for the best."

"Probably the only useful thing I've ever heard you say, Dipper." Preston said, as Durland wordlessly unlocked the cell.

With a painful creak, the iron bars were pulled aside. Pacifica turned to the open door, where Priscilla knelt, arms open.

…It was hard to be mad at her mother. Priscilla, relatively speaking, had always been rather neutral to the way of life that Pacifica had chosen. Even, at times, supportive. At least, Pacifica didn't have reason to think otherwise. It was always Preston calling the shots. Preston arguing with her. Preston with the credit cards.

Yes, her mother was difficult. Nobody, nobody on earth could call Priscilla a particularly good mother. But all the same, When Pacifica saw her, arms open, she couldn't help but hug her. Perhaps that basic mother-daughter instinct.

"Mom, I-"

"Sh. Let's take you home."

"I don't-"

"Even your - ahrm - friend says it's for the best." Preston spoke up, seemingly trying his damnedest not to acknowledge Dipper as a romantic prospect for his troubled offspring. "Enough nonsense."

"B-but can I at least-"

"I said enough," Preston said, firmly, pulling out a finely cast, mahogany handled bell. Her baby-blue eyes shrunk into pindots. "Come."

Pacifica stood still and looked back to her new family, who were all ushering with her hands. Even Waddles was wiggling his ears like tiny little bacon-palms.

She looked towards freedom and huffed. "You promise this will work out?"

"Trust me." Dipper smiled. "Trust us."

"Can I at least get a kiss goodb-" Pacifica didn't get to finish her sentence as her mother pulled her away.

The Northwest socialite - as much as she didn't want to - followed, obediently. Desperately hoping that her boyfriend had a plan. Any plan. Even if it was a really dumb one.

For now, however, she couldn't deny that - deep in her mind - she was somewhat glad to be back inside the cognac leather and luxury velvet quilting that made up the family's grand saloon. A plush padded cell of blissful ignorance, away from the jail, properly heated, and with fizzy strawberry cordial on tap.

Every instinct told her, of course, that it was a facade. She didn't belong here. She needed to get back to the Pines. She just didn't see what the plan was. Did they even have a plan? Did Dipper lie to her, just to calm her down?

For just a moment, she considered running off. A shame she had no idea how to take off the child lock on the damned jalopy.

The chittering engine started, and, with hands against the tinted glass, Pacifica watched the police station disappear into the strangely thick, sodden fog that was drenching the town's every building and surface.

She desperately, oh so desperately hoped that the Pines knew what they were doing.

She couldn't lose them.

She wouldn't lose them.