Pacifica groaned as she lay there, everything feeling sore and limp - and a horrendous ring bouncing around inside her skull. Her eyes hurt - still stained with tears - and it was proving incredibly difficult to get her breath or still the frantic, endless trembling that was plaguing her system.

She winced as she heard a hollow, echoing call…

"Pacifica…?"

"Pacifica…?!"

"PACIFICA…?!"

Her eyes slowly opened to the blotchy, blurred visage of what she could only presume was her boyfriend. "D-Dipper…?"

Sadly, her eyes soon focused. In Dipper's place, she was greeted by the permanently blotchy gurn of Toby Determined.

"Razzle, dazzle, friends! Our wealthy heiress is awaaake!"

Recoiling in horror, Pacifica promptly swung at the grotesque reporter. Thankfully Toby had, if nothing else, grown very used to being punched, and managed to dodge out of the way before his face could suffer any (further) damage.

"That was entirely my fault!" He proclaimed in his usual drawl. "Sorry, sorry!"

"You seemed to take a nasty fall." Tyler said, quietly, handing her a can of Pitt Colas as if it were smelling salts.

She groaned as she sat up - only to realise she was bundled up against Susan, piled up atop a mess of roof tiles and stone blocks - the crumpled remains of the grand courthouse that had been standing so proudly only hours before. The courthouse that was meant to be the symbol of a grand, all-encompassing victory.

Still quivering from the heartbreak of leaving her new life, the Northwest heir momentarily let down her guard and held onto her proxy matriarch - when the penny dropped. She sat bolt upright and stared.

Why was she with Susan?

Why was everyone so beaten up?

Why were they in a place that looked like freakin' Ohio?!

The town looked as if a nuke had gone off. Time hadn't been reversed at all. It was sheer carnage. She was meant to be with her awful family in her awful house with not-so-awful luxury silk sheets. She was soon bolt upright and beginning to hyperventilate.

"No..nonono, no, this isn't right, this-"

She clutched her head, tears once again threatening to run down her face. This wasn't the deal. She was meant to be back 'where she belonged' or whatever junk that damned pink newt had promised.

"It was - it was meant to all be fixed!"

She stood up on shaky legs and stared, frantically, at what surrounded them. Piles of rubble, smouldering fires, smoke and ghostly blue greenery wrapping every facet of the eyes, shrouded in layers of gossamer fog and fume. Even the Wentworth bridge was tainted in the faint glow of vegetative tentacle.

A sob wracked her throat as she clutched her head. "W-why is this happening?! I did the right thing! I tried to put everything right! I- I did the right thing!"

So many things went through the Northwest heir's mind. Upset, heartbreak - pure, unbridled anger. Outrage, even. How dare he? How dare the stupid air-swimming frog lie to her about what he could do? Of all the horrible things to pull on someone like her, after everything she had been through-

"I don't get it. I don't get it! I don't understand!" She sobbed. "I just wanted things back to normal! I wanted to do something good, to make everything right, and-and where are the Pines?! Where are mom and dad?! W-where's the diner?!"

"Your guess is as good as ooours." Susan drawled, softly, with a wistful sigh. "I'm sure they'll turn up, Pacifica."

"H-how can you be so calm?!" Pacifica snapped, tears streaking down her face. "H-how can you not panic?! How is everybody coping with this better than me?!"

She panted for air and gripped her own shoulders as she took in everything. It was as if the silence that surrounded them in the wrecked township was enough to give her the most damaging thing of all - time to think. She found herself getting more and more panicked, tears flooding down her cheeks as her head spun and her throat stung from every ice-cold lungful of air that hit her.

"Oh god… oh god, I don't know what to do, I-" She turned to Susan and sniffed. "He lied to me! He lied to me about everything!"

"Pacifica, I'm not so-"

"He lied to me! He- I bet he's kidnapped them and he's torturing them and he's- I bet he's working for Bill and-"

Susan held her shoulder firmly and smiled. "Do you really think all that?"

Pacifica faltered. "N-no, I don't… I don't know. I-"

The Northwest heir clutched her arm and rubbed it awkwardly as she tried to compute it all in her head. If the Axolotl had been intending to cause any sort of harm, this seemed like a very convoluted way to do it. If it had really wanted to upset her, why give Susan back in the first place? Or, for that matter, bother with any of this in the first place?

She had to admit, the great big space-salamander didn't seem particularly malicious.

"I- I just don't-" She sighed. "I- I need to know they're okay, Susan."

"Me tooo, but for now, let's count our blessings." The kindly Wentworth replied, tidying Pacifica's bedraggled hair. "The town's safe, no missing limbs, and I'm pretty sure that the worst of it's overrrr."

Pacifica sighed and wiped her eyes. "What about mom and dad?"

"They'll turn up. If there's one thing we've learned this summerrr, it's that you can't keep a bad guy dooown."

Pacifica silently hoped that Susan was gravely incorrect. If Bill and Cankerblight weren't down now, she really couldn't bear to think of it. Like, they were still technically down there, just buried with a giant stick through their eyeball.

And…y'know, oozing through all of the groundwater, seeping into the darkest depths of Oregon.

A bit unsettling, now that she thought about it. Almost as unsettling as the determined gait of Quentin Trembley as he approached the distinctly conflicted Northwest heir with a somewhat bizarre look on his face. A sort of wall-eyed stare of pure sincerity.

"You spoke to the great newt of time and space?" Quentin ventured, taking the teenager aside. "He who judges from the interdimensional aquarium? The beanbag-keeper of all ages and eras?"

"Y-you know him?"

"I met him once after licking a particularly colourful frog, taking off my clothes, and befriending a mountain lion called Nestor." Trembley replied, with his characteristic flair for acting like his adventures were the grandest, most elegant exploits since the Odyssey. "We still stay in contact. Nestor, I mean. Not the Axolotl. He's kind of a jerk."

"H-how trustworthy is he?" Pacifica whispered, for once desperate to know Quentin's perspective. Mentally unstable the ex-president may be, he was basically her only source of hope.

"Irritatingly so. Always keeps up his side of the bargain. Unlike the British monarchy." The errant elected official replied, somewhat cryptically.

Pacifica grumbled something indecipherable - and mostly unfit for print - as she sat down on what had once been a chimney breast, and held the bridge of her nose. She felt calmer - that was for certain - but the lack of delivery on the Axolotl's side of the bargain was irritating.

As was the lack of Dipper and Ford, who usually had some sort of answers for situations exactly like this one.

She looked up and sighed at the sight of the Manotaur-inflicted town, her head throbbing with confusion and her teeth gritted with irritation.

"Pacifica…? I know that petty sigh." a familiar voice murmured from underneath the pile of bricks."No way, is that your butt on top of us?! Get it shifted, girl!"

The young socialite yelped in surprise and looked around frantically. "Mabel?!"

"Dipper, Pacifica's like, sat on us. How weird is that, bro-bro?!"

"I think I've broken my arm." Dipper groaned from underneath the very same pile.

"Dippingsauce, if you've injured your arm again, I'm totally gonna saw it off."

"S-stop poking!"

Pacifica practically flung herself into demolishing the stacks of chimney stack, throwing the debris out of the way with an almost maniacal air. As soon as she caught glimpse of her boyfriend, she threw her arms around him and let out perhaps the biggest, ugliest sob that a Northwest ever dared utter.

"Pacifica?! W-wait, I thought-"

"He lied to us!" Pacifica sobbed, clinging to him so tightly that his back cracked - secretly beyond overjoyed that he'd lied to them. Dipper's cheeks and neck were peppered with tear-stained kisses and pecks so utterly frantic and unfettered that his face went roughly the same colour as his nose.

"No, no, he didn't." Ford said, pushing a wall beam off of his brother's noggin as he clambered free of the courthouse's toilet block. If dumping him in a bathroom was a joke from the Big Frilly, he didn't particularly see the funny side. The old man kicked off the toilet paper wrapped around his boot with a look of pure disgust.

Pacifica looked up from Dipper's - by now, heavily mascara-stained - shoulder. "Wh-wha…?"

"He said he'd send you where you belonged. I think you proved yourself that you don't belong with Preston and Priscilla Northwest." The scientist smiled as he stretched his arms behind his back and clicked his vertebrae. "No Northwest would make a decision that selfless."

"Freakin' lousy trick if you ask me." Stan grunted, rubbing his head. "Old sphynx-style crud."

Ford blinked at his brother's reference.

"What? Ya don't run a mystery tourist trap without researchin'."

Mabel spotted Kevin and was gone before a single word further was uttered. She clung to him like a vice, peppering him in so much affection that even Pacifica and Dipper found themselves recoiling at the saccharine display.

Stan pulled Susan towards him and grinned proudly, as if she was made of pure platinum.

Even Ford seemed pleased to slap Fiddleford across the back and laugh at their own fortune - or, perhaps, lack thereof. As much as the world didn't look particularly welcoming, it felt damned good to be back where they belonged.

All of them.

Even the jaded old scientist couldn't help but be utterly delighted to know that Pacifica Northwest remained in their little group. And - perhaps more importantly - with his nephew.

"I guess this is it, then?" Stan grunted. "Straight to work rebuildin', right?"

Finally satisfied with their incredible battle, the beaten-up Manotaurs all began charging back towards their sauna-pits with a jovial, match-winning atmosphere. As soon as the focus-stealing mass of hair, horns and muscle had returned to the dank, manly caves from which they came, the Pines had gained a clear, undisturbed view into the crumbling valley of beaten brick and masticated mortar.

It seemed like Stan's words were the definition of 'easier said than done'. Even if Fiddleford had every intention of routing hundreds of thousands of dollars of tax money into the repairs, there was little doubt this stretched the town's innate collaborative spirit to its limits.

And nobody could think of a group less qualified - or more dedicated - to give it a try.