Disclaimer: I do not own the glory of animation and storytelling that is Gravity Falls.

Betaed by: Trackula

WARNING: Depictions and implications of child abuse.

Not Like the Others

The blonde heiress lay on her bed, still not changed out of the party gown, thinking about the strangest evening of her life.

The party had wound down, and the revelers had left. The townsfolk had left laughing at the unexpected wonder the night had brought or groaning in pain at overindulgence. But as she stood by the door like a good hostess and bid them good night satisfaction had seemed to pervade the whole bizarre body of humanity.

And the elite had also taken their leave, they seemed in oddly good spirits. It felt so typical save for the fact she was standing in for her parents. The ghost and the mortal terror seemed to have been swept away.

Only the ancient mayor mentioned it, he seemed disappointed the Grim Reaper had passed him by again. Strange strange man, she smiled and nodded; warily watching the vultures as he was wheeled off into the night.

The last group to leave had been Baron Marius, scion of a family whose wealth and connections were such all the upheavals of the 20th century had barely touched how they chose to live beyond taking advantage. Still they had a good reputation, and given the sincerely civil way he mixed with commoners perhaps unlike her's it was warranted?

Mabel only spared her a quick, and loud, good night, absorbed with discussion of some wedding she was going to attend. But Dipper had paused.

"You going to be alright?" he asked.

"Duh, the Ghost is gone genius. Curse broken," she had dismissed. They both knew that was not what he was asking about.

"Your parents hide in that panic room after all?" he had asked instead.

"Please let me worry about those two," she had dismissed the notion with a wave.

"Well, you know where to find me right?" he asked again looking around the interior of the mansion.

"Good night Dipper, and … I had fun, thanks," Pacifica said closing the door herself. He was smiling as it closed.

She wasn't, the manor felt very empty all of a sudden and she had felt glares on her back.

XXX

Her mother had not said anything as she was marched up here. But her face and tense body language made it clear she had nothing but endorsements for her husband's actions.

The butler had opened the door for her, the normality of the action had been bizarre. Her father had whispered about eating him in the panic room only hours ago. If she had heard it surely the veteran serving man had, right?

For the first time she questioned why someone would tolerate such horrible treatment. Her own experience told her both she did not want to know the answer, and it was something she should learn the answer to anyway.

But that was for another time. Here and now her room loomed before her, menacing in the dark, the manor's silence eerie after the life-filled din of the party. Even with the servants there were so few people for a place so big.

"You are going to stay in your room, and think about what you have done," Preston Northwest said. His face really was more suited to anger and displeasure than the smile he put on for the press and those he regarded as peers.

'Yeah the same peers he was ready to leave to die by arborification or incineration,' she thought feeling like vomiting. These two were beyond elitist, an elitist would at least care about those they saw as the elite. It was just selfishness, the same that had lead generations to simultaneously exploit this town and trick it into worshipping them.

"For how long?" she had asked. She had tried to be defiant in her tone.

"Until you start behaving like a Northwest," Pacifica's father had said.

He had stepped forward, no bell. There had been things before the bell though.

She ran inside, and looked back. He had nodded, a curt sharp gesture. Approval, affirmation he still had control. He only needed to more firmly assert it.

He had given his answer, and shut the door himself. She heard it lock, her door only had a lock on the outside. That should have bothered her more before now, she admitted.

XXX

She had three days to herself. The butler entered silently left a tray of food and took the last tray all in silence. He never so much as glanced at her.

Pacifica's private washroom attached to the room took care of other matters.

She had no phone, in this day and age it was not acceptable to have a fixture of a phone in your room; instead you carried it with you. But she did not have hers. And the laptop, also gone.

And her windows were both always locked, and reflective from the outside to ensure paparazzi could not spy on her.

Pacifica felt small and foolish not realizing she had been living in a high class prison cell.

There was no television, she had never seen the need when there were others all around the house. And later her laptop served well enough.

Books, only a few teen romances and plenty of magazines approved by her parents. Some distraction but quickly exhausted and discarded.

She ended up playing dress up, make up, clothes, and jewelry the only thing to pass the time. Looking at herself in her fancy mirror she normally felt like a star getting ready to go on stage.

Now she felt like a doll, playing dress up with itself until it was taken out of its box again. The fact she had nothing else to do only made it worse.

XXX

The current outfit she was trying on was a shade of green she felt looked quite good on her.

The dress Pacifica's mother had disapproved of. Her mother had liked it once, she never got anything her mother had not approved of. Her father may hold the bell, but her mother was the authority on all things feminine.

Pacifica could chose, but a veto was reserved for any action.

Just like her attending the Mystery Shack party was a good chance to show up the rabble on their own turf. Or her midnight golf duel was a good chance to put that nosey Pines family in their place.

It had all seemed so sensible at the time. How could the world change so much so quickly? Or a person?

Then the door opened and it was not the butler bringing her next meal. Her father walked in, perfectly groomed and pristine in a fresh suit. She stood up from the chair in front of her mirror where she had been brushing her hair. He looked her over critically.

"That dress again," he remarked. She blushed, she had not intended an act of defiance in putting it on.

"Pacifica, I have given you time to think. So now I will ask you a question. Why did you defy us?" he demanded.

She was stunned by the question. Not even because he knew full well this mansion they were standing in could not exist right now if she had not defied him. But the fact he was even acknowledging she had something to say.

She almost used the mansion excuse. That saving Northwest Manor was worth one night's mess to clean up. They had tried the Dipper plan and it failed, it was a last resort to give in to the Ghost's demands.

Or even bring up the repercussions of all those VIPs dying. The Northwest's were well connected and wealthy; but enough to endure the probable wrath of so many other wealthy and well-connected families eager to place blame for their relatives deaths'?

It was an answer her father would accept she realized. He would still punish her, but it would not be so bad. He would threaten consequences if it happened again, but he would see it as a 'Northwest' decision. Defiance against him, but still loyal to the family and its interests overall.

But it would be a lie. Another like the ones filling the room hidden behind a portrait of a king who was empty bones beneath all his regalia.

She did not want her portrait in there with the rest of them.

"I did it because it was right," she answered.

"Right? What do you know about what is right Pacifica?

"You saw the papers that Pines boy uncovered. Nathaniel Northwest was born a buffoon, before him our family history is nonexistent because he for all intents and purposes came from nothing.

"He made a deal, and did things others would call 'wrong' so that he could cease to be nothing; and eclipsing that buffoon Trembley was only a portion of it.

"Of course I knew. It's a lesson passed down for generations, you don't get to the top by doing the 'right' thing. Much less stay there," Mr. Northwest said.

"But it's all lies! Our family has done nothing but exploit this town and others. And tricked them into worshipping us. They should hate us!" Pacifica shouted.

Her father had insisted she be some kind of athlete. Golf and tennis were the choices she had ended up with. He had taken tennis in his time, but also fencing. His feet and hands were quick for more than punching reanimated squirrels off himself.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked it up. She went onto her tiptoes giving a cry as that was not nearly enough to ease the pain.

Pacifica did not try to grab his hand or push him away. She did try and keep any tears from showing from pain or her thumping heart.

"Don't you dare speak of the family like that. It's infuriating when the rabble grows a brain and a spine to go with it and dares to speak such things …

"But you? How dare you criticize the legacy that made you?

"If not for Nathaniel seizing opportunity we would be down there with the rabble, maybe less than the rabble.

"Regardless of what methods they used each link in the chain of our dynasty has served to make us what we are today. You think they were wrong?

"That whiny lumberjack reigned for only a night after a century and a half where we looked down on his kind as kings. And we will do so for just as long again, at least.

"In fact your little act will only make them worship us more, thinking if they bow deep enough those gates will open again.

"Those stupid lumberfolk did the 'right' thing. And it got them exactly nowhere. Each generation has seen it play out in some manner. They lose, we win, and we come away smelling of roses and oranges.

"This dress you like?" he said glancing down.

Numb she glanced down with him. With his free hand he grabbed the neck line. And ripped it, revealing the training bra underneath.

She shrieked in surprise. He pushed her to the floor.

"Paid for by the legacy you would spit on, Pacifica. This room? Built by the same con that brought that ghost. The land? Swindled from natives who never learned to read fine print and were dumb enough to mistake a handshake for a contract.

"The phones? The personal trainers? Disease we created so we could cure and both profit and be praised for it. Pelts stolen from others traps. The list goes on.

"Everything you have, Pacifica. From your tutored education, to the elite brand undergarments you put on in the morning, comes from the Northwest Legacy.

"You are nothing, but a Northwest," he declared.

She didn't look at him, only his well-polished shoes as she trembled on the floor.

"Look at me Pacifica," he ordered. She stared at his shoes, she wanted to disappear. He rang the bell.

Her head snapped up, her neck hurt.

"Good. Now listen.

"I had hoped this was just an isolated if however regrettable incident. And that I would just need to… reaffirm matters.

"But it's now clear that is not the case. You are not shaping up into a proper Northwest like your mother and I thought you were.

"We have hit… another rough patch. And we shall deal with this accordingly.

"You will remain grounded to your room. The public will be told you caught something nasty. Perhaps as a result of the cider fountain being contaminated by that hairy ape man swimming in it?

"You will remain here in the Manor until the Doctor and the tutors deem you are past this… deviancy.

"I know it seems harsh, but it is our duty to ensure the family legacy. Sacrifices must be made. And remember, it will go so much more quickly and smoothly if you just cooperate," he told her.

She had pulled up her torn dress to cover herself, she nodded.

"Do you understand?"

…

Dingle Dingle

"Yes, I understand," she said.

"Good, I hope we don't have to talk like this again. The butler will be along shortly with your lunch. Be presentable, and give him that rag to burn," Preston Northwest commanded.

She did as she was told. And soon it was night.

XXX

The girl was tired but she felt more sick than sleepy. Pacifica was not sure if she was sleeping or awake.

Her father's words, otherworldly chants.

Animals vomiting blood, a portrait of a victim displayed proudly. A scene played out of servants shaving a large corpse so it would not stink so badly then burning the body in the fireplace at a Northwest's orders.

Everything was stained with ancient sins.

Pacifica struggled with the thick blankets. They were damp, blood-soaked. Like the mattress, the pillow sticky with blood pulled on her hair.

Dark forest will have its day. Native Americans, daggers and bullet holes in their backs, others cold and starved looking. Staring with hollow demanding eyes.

Animals slaughtered and honest trappers alike in their cheated fate.

She wanted to get away, she had to! Pacifica was drowning in it, it was going to pull her under.

"Dipper!" she tried to yell for someone who could save people from things that shouldn't be.

YOUR FAMILY IS THE THING THAT SHOULD NOT BE.

Mudslide, slick with innocent blood shed directly or indirectly by generations of unrepentant monsters, carried her to the floor. Tangled in heavy sheets, her head was covered.

'I'm going down. The chain is too heavy, I'm sinking whether I want to or not.'

"Pacifica ..." a voice. Not Dipper, but not a nightmare either, her hand reached toward it. It met something solid and dry, fingers closed about smooth wood, a handle.

"... you are not like the other Northwests," a man who had every reason to offer her no chance at redemption had said.

Cloth ripped, and cold air washed over her.

"HUUUH!" she gulped sitting up as her head tore through the thick imported blanket.

Taking deep breaths as sweat cooled on her face and neck her eyes darted about her room. Normal, dark but for the light of the moon leaking in through the windows, but normal.

She was still tangled up. It took minutes of working the tool just to get it free to her eyes and an arm back.

Pacifica stared at the instrument of her salvation. An axe, that axe.

The one that had slain the lumberjack so long ago, left behind when he moved on. It had not faded, it had fallen to the floor and struck the manor floor real as her own hands.

She had assumed a servant had thrown it away. Or Dipper had carried it off at some point for a trophy or something.

That it should be here in her hand gleaming silver in the moonlight made no sense.

Unless it did make sense.

She cut herself free and sat in front of the biggest window, axe laid across her lap.

The night was still dark, but the sky was full of stars. Astronomy had never been deemed too important, but she had learned a few constellations. Pacifica traced Ursa Major with her index finger idly.

The floor felt hard even through the carpet, but she was not going back to bed. Her delicate hands tightened on the axe's handle.

It was simple, yet it seemed the only thing around her not cast in some menacing shadow.

"Father, this is different. This didn't come from them. It's mine, and it's clean," she said to the empty room.

She ended up sleeping on the floor curled up with it.

Pacifica woke before the servants came. And she hide it in the back of her walk-in closet. She did not fear them finding it. She felt even if it was taken it would find a way back to her.

Her mother had appeared after breakfast. Pacifica stood straight for inspection as the other Northwest woman walked around her. And flinched when the heels stopped.

"Pacifica, what happened to your hair?" she demanded.

"What?" Pacifica asked. Her mother knelt and grabbed of the blonde hair and held it before Pacifica's face. A visible chunk was missing.

The heiress almost looked to the unmade bed. Instead she shrugged.

"I guess I got a close shave from the ghost," she said.

"Hmm, well it can be fixed with a trim, not unheard of in summer. We will delay the tutor while the stylist makes you presentable," Her mother said.

And of course that was how it happened. But when the imported Euro stylist had stepped away from something or other she had leaned forward to squint as the bottles and products.

Blonde hair dye, crap. And she had liked to think of herself as a natural blonde.

The tutor came in time, and while she nodded and copied she took it with a grain of salt now. She doubted it was all lies, but so much had been omitted she realized now taking any of it for granted as truth would be foolish.

No Doctor today, so it was back to the room.

Alone, she had been thrilled to find the axe where she left it. Taking a seat in front of the mirrors she looked at herself and the axe.

The hair cut was a small change no one else would probably notice, but she felt it. Even if only in small ways she was changing despite her parents best efforts to make her into them.

And this tool carried a blessing from those her ancestors had spat on. It was hers, and it would keep her afloat as the darkness came day and night.

It may not be enough to knock down the locked doors before or still the bells in her ears. But it would remind her, she was not like the other Northwests. She would somehow make up even a little for the horrible things her ancestors had done, and she would forge her own chain.

It was the truth, and it would set her free someday.

AUTHOR NOTE:

And there, this was an unexpected piece. I was discussing theoroes around the episode, particularly that i think the axe the ghost left behind will come into play again; and i just found myself inspired. I don't know if a fic has ever come together tis quick for me, much less in a fandom I have no experience in writing.

I already consider this AU, since I expect in canon pAcifica and Gravity Falls itself will be touched by the swift approaching Billmagedeon. But this piece was about Pacifica and so i discounted that in the name of exploring her and her family a bit, so that thread was set aside fro this little pocket.

Well I hope you enjoyed this; and have long days and pleasant nights.