A/N: So what do you think of my first attempt at Gravity Falls writing. I wrote it because I didn't like the idea of Dipper leaving Pacifica in an abusive home after what she did for them. And I thought of the most crazy awesome badass way to make it happen.

Wrongs Darker Then Death or Night

"The fiery trial through which we pass, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation. We say we are for the Union. The world will not forget that we say this. We know how to save the Union. The world knows we do know how to save it. We - even we here - hold the power, and bear the responsibility. In giving freedom to the slave, we assure freedom to the free."

-Abraham Lincoln

"Dipper!" The hunchbacked old man with the long-white beard said after he'd dragged Dipper Mordechai Pines into the corner during the now…suddenly much more lively party at the Northwest Mansion. "I've been looking for ya! I fixed the laptop. I've been doing some calculations and I think something terrible is coming. The Apocalypse! The End Times!" Old Man McGuckett's voice had been growing progressively louder and frantic with each word, and by the time he'd said that he'd seemed as deranged as he had in the days before he and his friends had forcibly dissolved the Society of the Blind Eye.

Which didn't mean he was wrong of course, unfortunately; in fact he was almost certainly right. At the moment, , however despite the voice in his head telling him to listen to his friend, to act on his warning immediately, all Dipper Pines could do was sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose in an effort to relieve the pressure building up behind his eyes. He and Pacifica had just been through a terrible ordeal already that night. He and dozens of other innocent people had been turned to wood in a mansion that had been set on fire. If Pacifica hadn't opened that gate and let the townsfolk in, he, his sister, all her friends, and forty other people would be dead right now.

That in particular surprised him, far more than anything he owed Pacifica Northwest, a girl that he'd hated, and said as much to her face, only twelve hours earlier, his life and the life of his sister. Something that until five minutes ago he wouldn't have believed possible without it being some deeply reluctant debt he'd discharge as soon as possible because he wouldn't have liked the idea of being indebted to someone so unpleasant. But he didn't hate her. Not anymore.

"You know what McGuckett? How about we talk about this stuff tomorrow? It's a party. Let's have some fun for once." He then scanned the crowd and located Pacifica, resplendent in her elegant lavender and black dress. She was directing a couple servants in the cleanup party in the impromptu mess she and Pacifica had just made in a flurry of rebellion against her parents. putting his hands on his hips and striding confidently back into the crowd towards her. He wanted to enjoy this night, to savor this victory, however fleeting. Because if what McGuckett said was true, he was going to have all the fight he could handle and more very soon.

For the opening engagement of the End Times that McGuckett had spoken of would be fought that very night.

"So what do you think of the newly expanded guest list?" Dipper said, a sly smirk on his face as he and Pacifica stood in front of the snack table. Or what was left of it. The oncoming flood of townsfolk that had come streaming in through the main gate at about a cubic meter per second had descended on the snack table like the Visigoths on the City of Rome. And like the Visigoths, they took pretty much everything worth taking. Not that they did any really lasting damage, and not that her parents didn't deserve it.

Pacifica laughed, and he felt his heart flutter just so, like it did earlier during his failed attempt to be suave. But there was something else in her laugh, an edge of tension, of anxiety, that bought him up short. They'd just fought one of the most powerful entities he'd come across in his time in Gravity Falls and saved dozens of lives, she should be celebrating their victory. She had been only moments before.

"I like it," Pacifica said, a smile on her face, a smile that, some little voice told him was forced. "It certainly seems more…lively." Her eyes darted nervously to her left.

"What's wrong, Pacifica?" He asked, even as his eyes followed her path, and came upon her father, Preston Northwest. The tall, brown-haired powerfully built man in his early forties seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. His blue suit was matted to his skin with sweat as he hurried about the vast space of the living room fighting a desperate, losing battle against the "uncultured riff-raff" that had flooded in. He could hear, barely audible over the general noise level of the room, his rich cultured voice yelling savagely at the people around him, rebuking for failing to put down some utensil or other appropriately. No one seemed to be in a mood to indulge him or even pay much attention to what he had to say, however.

He caught his gaze, and for half a moment, the two stared at each other across the room. And anger and hate flashed across the older man's face. Something about the way he stared at him, at them, sent a shiver worming his way down his spine. And triggered the memories of only forty minutes earlier…

Dipper flipped frantically through the book as he ran, the adrenaline surge already washing away the searing pain of having slammed headfirst into a twenty pound displaying peacock while running at full speed. He kept flipping, his heart pounding in his ears along with the ever louder deep voiced laughter of the ghostly lumberjack.

"Come on, come on," he said as he flipped page after page frantically. Then he saw it; a page with the stylized heading "Haunted Paintings and Image-based Specters. "I got it! A haunted painting can only be trapped in a silver mirror." He looked up and saw that they were running straight towards a white wallpapered sitting room, with a white loveseat and armchairs, on a carpet with a highly stylized inverted fleur-de-lis and brightly lit by two blazing silver chandeliers. A silver mirror hung directly above the loveseat almost beckoning them forward, the one thing needed to save both their lives and it was right there!

"Look! There's a silver mirror right there!" He said, running to get ahead of Pacifica, going straight for the silver mirror. He found himself yanked to a halt abruptly by a surprisingly strong grip on his right forearm yanking him back.

"Wait! Don't go in there!" He looked back and saw a look of genuine terror on her face. "This room has my parents' favorite carpet pattern! They'll lose it if we track mud in there!"

He looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown a second head. "What?" He said, utterly disbelieving of what he'd just heard. "Are you serious?" He said as he pulled roughly out of her grip, and started forward. Only to have Pacifica dart out ahead of him and block the entrance with her body, her arms flung out to either side, a look of unvarnished terror on her face.

"We'll find another way!" She shouted.

"Come out!" The lumberjack ghost shouted from down the hall.

"Pacifica," he said, sweat running down his cheeks, "We don't have time for this, let me through!" And he started forward shoving at her shoulders, intent on shoving her bodily to the ground if it meant clearing the path to the giant silver mirror hanging behind her.

Pacifica, enraged as she wrestled him back, matching him strength for strength, shouted, "No, my parents will kill me!"

Dipper, enraged that she seemed willing to sacrifice both their lives in order to not mess up the carpet and the upholstery on the loveseat and a brief parental flurry of anger that would no doubt dissipate once the situation had been explained to them, shouted, "Why are you so afraid of your parents?!"

"You wouldn't understand!" She shouted back as she dragged him bodily away from the sitting room before slipping on the mud and sliding into the room locked off behind the painting.

And then later, after he'd found out why the ghost was so set on attacking them in the first place…

"Northwests!" He'd shouted furiously as he shoved open the massive double doors and strode into the living room, ignoring the chimpanzee in the white tuxedo, and the extremely elderly man in the wheelchair at the base of the stairs as he went straight for Preston Northwest. "You've got some explaining to do!"

He heard excited running to his left to see Pacifica holding the hem of her dress as she ran back up to him. "Dipper, you came back!" There was a happy smile on her face and she seemed genuinely excited to see him.

Right now, however, he wouldn't have believed her if she said rain was wet. He thrust an accusing finger at her. "You lied to me! All of you did. All you had to do was let the townsfolk into the party and you could've broken the curse! But you made me do your dirty work instead!"

Preston Northwest glowered at him, put his glass of apple cider on the tray being held by the waiting butler and strode purposefully up to him. He bent down until they were almost nose to nose. "Look at who you're talking to, boy. I'm hosting a party for the most powerful people in the world. Do you think they'd come here if they had to rub elbows with your kind?"
"My kind?"

He turned his angry gaze back upon Pacifica. Noting the look of shame on her face and genuinely not caring. "I was right about you all along. You're just as bad as your parents. Another link in the world's worst chain."

"I'm sorry," she said pleadingly, walking towards him. "They made me. I should have told you but-," The pealing clangor of a brass bell rang out and her mouth abruptly snapped shut, her face flushing at the sound.

He stood there frozen in utter terror, as that bell rang again and again in his mind. He glanced over at the nervous Pacifica, holding her hands reflexively across her stomach and he found himself swallowing audibly the lump that was forming in his throat.

Dear God, he thought, his earlier fury at Preston Northwest flooding back as the horrifying implications of what had happened earlier. What they must have done to her to keep her in line with a bell?!He looked at the young blonde girl, standing there, genuine happiness and nervousness warring in every line, and gave her a reassuring smile. The strength and courage it had taken to break through the conditioning caused by that level of abuse, of torture was almost beyond imagining.

His night wasn't over. His duty not yet done, he could not in all conscience abandon a friend to the likes of him, someone who had just proven himself capable of anything. She'd saved his life this day. And it now was time to return the favor.

"Hey, Dipper," she said softly, putting her hand on his shoulder. "I'll be back. I'm going to the bathroom." She grabbed the hem of her dress and walked briskly towards the stairs. He watched her ascend the stairs, already evolving a plan. He scanned the crowd, looking for his sister and her friends. He spotted them quickly at the far left end of the room. Grenda, huge and muscular for a girl her age, was chatting with a well-dressed young man with long brown hair, while Mabel and Candy giggled at the sight.

He sighed and weaved his way through the crowd towards them. He tugged on Mabel's shoulder.

"Hey, Dipper," she said, a goofy smile on her face. "This is an awesome party, free food, free drinks, and I'm going to be a co-bridesmaid!"

"Yeah, sure," he said quickly. "Listen, there's something I need you, Candy, and Grenda to do for me." He treated them to a truncated briefing of everything that had happened earlier, and his conclusions as to what it meant. Slowly the goofy smile disappeared from their faces, and by the end they were gone entirely.

"Candy," she said softly, firmly. "Get Grenda over here. We have work to do."

When Grenda, sulking at being pulled away from her long-haired pretty boy had been dragged over to them by Candy, Mabel asked, her tone determined. "What do you need us to do."

"Head upstairs and find Pacifica. Don't let her out of your sight not even for a moment. She breathes, you breathe with her. You walk, you walk with her. Tell her to get dressed in more practical clothes, pack a duffel bag with some supplies, and if it comes to it, get her out and on her way back to the Mystery Shack."

"But what about her parents," Candy asked quickly. "Or the security guards. They could come looking for her at any time."

"I know," he said. "Wendy and most of our friends are here. I'll gather them as quickly as I can and scrape together a group to relieve you as soon as possible. If I get them to you before Pacifica's ready to leave, they'll take over and you can meet me around at the left side of the house." He sighed. This was the ugliest contingency of the last minute plan he was scraping up. "If it turns into a furball before the heavy hitters arrive. I expect you to hold them off as long as possible. Especially you, Grenda."

Grenda swallowed, then nodded. Out of the three of them, she was the closest to a heavy hitter Mabel's group had. But not even she could hold off a fully grown adult of any size for very long. But it might be enough to buy time for Pacifica, Mabel and Candy to get away. Or for Wendy, Robbie and Tambry to reinforce them.

And from the look on her face, Grenda knew it too.

Dipper sighed. "Pacifica must not be allowed to suffer for what she has done here tonight. All other concerns are secondary. Do you understand me?"

Mabel, Grenda and Candy looked at each other, and Mabel met her gaze. "Yes, we do."

"Then go, and Godspeed." He turned to melt back into the crowd, his phone out, as he texted all Wendy and all her friends and told them to meet him by the side of the house.

And Mabel, Candy, and Grenda moved to the stairs, ready to face the storm.

Pacifica Elise Northwest ran scalding hot water over hands as she stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, struggling to control her breathing as she thought back over the events of earlier, of the soul deep terror that had ran through her as her father rang that godforsaken bell. Her hands had sweated, and even then, there was her instincts screaming at her, to do what he said.

"Do it!" That voice had screamed at her as the memories flowed even in that moment. Memories of a cutting remark here, at being locked in her room with no food and no access to the bathroom there, and a blow across the face every so often to reinforce the other two. The memories of having to sit in her own urine and feces in the room for hours and the pain of that blow had demanded she take her hand off that lever and run, dive into the panic room with the very people (with the exception of the butler) who had inflicted such pain on her.

And in a moment that would shame her to her dying breath, she almost gave in. Almost gave in to the gagging ammonia stench of festering urine, and the pain of a blow across her face. But she hadn't, she had resisted to the last and pulled the lever. The townsfolk had rushed in, and all had been saved. But especially Dipper. God, if she'd lost him that night, the only person ever to come between her and harm, even if it meant his life…

She was interrupted from her reverie by a loud, meaty knock on the door. "Oh, God," she muttered under her breath. It's my Dad isn't it. He's found a moment to slip away from the party and he's going to make me suffer for it.

She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and slowly walked towards the bathroom door and the ever present pounding that she was certain heralded her doom. A prayer, half-formed and babbling from a dozen different Sunday school lectures formed in her mind. Lectures that in truth she'd been instructed by her father to only pay lip service too, for her father's god was a far darker one. She now clung fiercely to what her Sunday school teacher had taught her in the face of what she was sure was coming.

Lord, here my cry, she thought desperately. The cords of death entangle me. The anguish of the grave consumes me. Do not ignore my tears, I am overcome with sorrow, she thought as she put her hand on the doorknob. I call upon the name of the Lord, Lord save me!

She pulled the door open, and instead of her father, tough, powerful and violent, fearsome in his anger, she saw to her utter surprise, Mabel Pines, and her friends.

"Oh," she said quickly. "Hey, Mabel. Did you or your friends need to use the bathroom?"

"Probably," Mabel said quickly. "But that's not why we're here."

"Oh," she said, giving her a confused look. "Then why are you here?"

"To get you out of here."

"Out of the bathroom?" She said quickly, fear on her voice. "Did my parents send you to get me?" She blurted before she realized that they'd send servants to retrieve her, and not the "riff-raff" they so disdained.

"No," Mabel said as she shook her head. "To get you out of this house, and away from your father, and his bell."

She stepped back impulsively, hardly daring to believe her ears. "But why?"

"Because you saved our lives, because Dipper likes you, and because you're a human being not an animal. Now, we need to move quickly. Go back to your room, change, into something practical. Is there a way out of this section of the house that no one will notice you leaving from?"

"Yes," Pacifica said quickly, determination and hope flaring in her breast. "There's a side gate in the left wall, we can slip out through there."

"Good," Mabel said quickly, beckoning her out of the bathroom. "Now let's get out of here. We need to move quickly."

Pacifica nodded and walked briskly out into the corridor. "But where's Dipper?"

Mabel sighed. "Let's just say that Dipper and his resources are needed elsewhere for the time being."

The three girls hurried down the corridor towards her room. They stopped at the large ebony double doors and she pushed it open, beckoning the three girls to follow her inside. She ran past her four-poster bed with it's violet curtains towards the large walk-in closet towards the back of the room. Flipping on the light switch she hastily yanked off a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and ran out to the dressing screen.

She had just zipped up her fly when three loud, ominous thuds slammed hard against her door. He stuck her head behind the dressing screen to see Mabel and her friends facing the door, ramrod straight as they faced away from her towards the door. "Miss Northwest," a harsh, stern voice growled from the other side, a voice that sent shivers down her spine, and a strong urge to throw up everything she'd ever eaten. It was "security commander" Ceausescu, her parents chief of security, and the man who, when she was getting old enough to try to run the few times her father had come for her, had held her down so she couldn't run when his father struck her. "Miss Northwest, you're parents request your presence in the Hornvale Room."

Five minutes earlier

Dipper stuck is head inside the whole in the stained glass window that he and Pacifica had fallen out of only an hour earlier, glancing over the room that contained the record of the Northwest line's true history. His plan to get Pacifica safely away from all this hinged on getting as much of it in hand as they possibly could. The only thing that could possibly convince them to not send the police or their "security forces" after her once she was out of immediate danger was going to be the threat that they'd air all their dirty laundry in public if there was any reprisal, legal or otherwise.

"Come on," he said quickly, sticking his head out to look behind him, both to keep an eye for his reinforcements and security forces suddenly appearing in his rear. "Come on."

"Hey, what up Dipper?" A blessedly familiar female voice said from behind him and he wheeled about to give a sigh of relief as she saw the tall, svelte, red-haired form of Wendy Corduroy standing at the bottom of the small hill. She was in red, gold and white flannel button-up shirt and pants. And, yes! She was surrounded by her friends. He'd never been more glad to see any of them, even Robbie.

"Good," he said, sliding down the hill. "We're almost out of time so we need to move quickly. Thompson, I need you to bring your van around to this side of the hill."

The blonde heavyset man looked up at Wendy, who despite the confused look on his face nodded her permission to proceed. He nodded immediately, and ran out the side gate as fast as his weight would allow, which was surprisingly fast for such a large man.

"What's going on, Dipper?" She said as soon as he'd left. "Why'd you pull us from the party."

"Yeah, man," Robbie said quickly. "I'm starting to hate you again."

"Guys, relax," Dipper said quickly, and he launched into the same briefing he'd given Mabel earlier. By the time it was over, the looks of irritation on their faces were…still there, but they weren't angry at him anymore. The thought of what they must have done to Pacifica were more than they were willing to allow to stand, even for her, who'd antagonized them all at one point or another.

"What do you need us to do, Dipper?"

"Wendy, Robbie, Tambry," he said immediately. "You're my heavy hitters. You're to relieve Mabel and the others, and take over the responsibility of getting Pacifica out of the house safely. If it comes down to a fight -," Abruptly the phone in his pocket buzzed his left thigh. He reached inside and flipped it open to reveal a text message from Mabel.

Dipper, Mabel. Under attack, Pacifica's Room. Send help.

"Shit," he bit out the rare swear. "All right, it looks like they're under attack. Get up there. The rest of us will get as much of the contents of that room out of there as humanly possible. They're our bargaining chips."

"Right," Wendy said fiercely. "You heard Dipper, let's kick some Northwest ass." And the three of them ran back around the side of the house.

"The rest of you," he said quickly. "Let's get in to that room, we have some heavy lifting to do, same as them."

Wendy Corduroy hefted the heavy axe handle in her hand as she, Robbie Valentino, and Tambry DeSoto crouched at the top of the stairs as they watched the three blue-suited security thugs spread out in the hallway as the fourth slammed his fists against the door to Pacifica's room. "What do we do?" Robbie whispered quickly, there was fear on his voice, but also determination. There was no trace of any desire to retreat, to abandon the three girls in there to fate.

She appraised the odds against them. She and Robbie were both vicious fighters albeit untrained, while Tambry was well trained in Krav Maga. But these people, if the hiring of that Russian minigolf instructor were any indication, were likely well-trained and experienced "security" personnel from the former Soviet Union and former Warsaw Pact. Also not likely to be any pushovers.

Right now, the best plan she could hope for would be to overwhelm them. Between her group and Mabel's, they outnumbered them more than two to one. It was going to be an ugly furball, but if they could move quickly enough , they might be able to turn their flank.

She pulled out her cellphone and tapped off a quick message to Mabel.

Mabel, Wendy. Be ready to fight your way out the front, we'll take them from the left. We'll move when you move.

She sent it and crouched back down into the stairwell and prepared herself mentally for what she was about to do.

She didn't have long to do so, for a great roar came from in front of them as the doors slammed open, pushing the thug who was knocking on it away from the door as four thirteen-year-old girls barreled out of the room and slammed into his midsection, knocking him to the floor and laid into him with a flurry of punching, kicking, and biting. The other three charged forward to tear them off him.

"Now do your worst!" Wendy shouted, and they launched themselves out of the stairwell towards the enemy, Wendy's axe handle, taken from the very axe that had embedded itself in the head of the lumberjack ghost, slammed hard into the head of huge man in his mid-forties with dirty blonde hair, even as Robbie and Tambry closed with the other two guards.

"Scheisse!" The older man shouted as he clutched the side of his head. Her steel-toed boot lashed into his privates, and he gave a yowl of pain and several more German curses as he clutched his enflamed privates. Two more swift, grinding strikes against his back caused the former Stasi man to fall to the ground, writhing in pain. She looked up to see Mabel, Grenda, Candy, and Pacifica continuing to focus their attacks on the man on the ground. He roared and tried to rise to his feet, to push them off him with sheer force of his muscular physique, only for Grenda to slam a meaty fist into his face. She removed the former East German's radio and flung it hard against the far wall.

"Clear the way!" Wendy shouted and seeing an enraged almost sixteen year old young woman wielding an axe handle come barreling straight at them, prudently broke off and moved away from him even as the axe handle came crashing down against his left arm so hard she felt the vibration in her own arms. The man writhed on the floor, clutching his now broken arm. She delivered an equally hard blow to his left leg for good measure

She heard a shout and looked behind her. Tambry's opponent had managed to get his Billy club out and had struck her across the face. She stumbled back from him, dazed.

"Tambers!" Robbie shouted desperately, breaking off from his own opponent and charging Tambry's from behind, knocking him to the ground in a savage flurry of punching. His former opponent, bleeding from where he'd slugged him in the mouth, charged forward. Wendy wheeled about to face him.

"Wendy, get out of the way!" Mabel shouted, and some instinct told her to heed the warning. She tore herself out of the way as a fifteen mile an hour, five pound stainless steel grappling hook came crashing into his leg, contusing the skin and shattering the bone beneath. He went down in a ball of pain as Mabel yanked her hook back.

"We got them!" Wendy shouted, "It's time to go!"

She heard heavy footfalls and loud shouting coming from the corridor in front of them.

"Oh, shit!" Wendy shouted before leaning down and physically yanking Robbie off his now unconscious opponent. "It's time to go!" This time the seven of them took off down the corridor, back towards Dipper.

Dipper paced the musty secret room constantly as Nate, Lee and Thompson carried one of the two remaining huge wall portraits out through the hole. They'd decided to leave the remaining wall portraits for the end and instead focused on seizing as many of the smaller portraits and incriminating documents as they could carry. And boy they were incriminating. When he had time he'd go over them and see what, if any, he could glean from them that might have some bearing on the events going on in this town.

His phone abruptly buzzed in his pocket again, and pulled it out again, this time from Wendy.

Dipper, Wendy. Package is secure and we're bringing hell on our asses. Move!

"Guys, get to the van! Drop that portrait and move it! Security's coming and they're sure not coming to make daisy chains, sing Kumbayah and talk about our feelings! We've got more than enough to make this plan work! Get moving! I'll be along!"

They didn't need to be told twice, they dropped it and ran out the window. He sighed, took out his phone and began to record his message informing them of what they'd done.

Preston Northwest fumed as he paced the sitting room of Northwest Manor, resisting the urge to take out his anger and rage that the total failure that this night had turned into onto the furniture, his wife, the servants, anything. After a century and a half of culture and refinement, the riff-raff had poured in, like the Huns of old. And not only that, Dipper, a twelve year old boy had not only convinced his daughter to run away from him, but also made off with half the contents of their Secret Room, where they contained the real records of what they'd done.

Oh, he wanted to send the police, the FBI, everything he had at them, but damn it all, he couldn't, not if the threat the Pines boy had sent to his email account meant anything. He couldn't even press charges relating to the attacks on his security forces. He sighed, walked over to his computer and hit play on the message again.

"I don't have a lot of time so I'll make this brief," Dipper said from inside the Secret Room. Pacifica has left you, and she is not coming back. And nor should she. After what you've done to her, you and your wife have forfeited any and all rights to call her your daughter. And don't even think of sending either the police or any of your thugs after me or mine. If anything happens to anyone even tangentially related to me or mine, if they suffer any 'accidents,' and die of anything other than natural causes at a ripe old age, certain documents and paintings will find their way into the hands of the local paper and the major twenty-four hour news channels. You think your reputation is bad now, just imagine what will happen then." He appeared to move to stop recording and hit send, but then thought better of it.

"Oh, and let me leave you with one other piece of wisdom. 'Because your rage against Me," he quoted after Isaiah, eyes flashing, "and your tumult has come up into My ears, therefore I will put My hook in your nose, and My bridle in your lips, and I will turn you back the way thou camest."

The image of Dipper Pines froze on his screen. Preston Northwest, bought low by his own arrogance, could only glare.

He turned to tapestry on the wall, of Bill Cipher, the object of his and his family's worship for one hundred and fifty years. He was bathed in red as he made man bow down to him in even as they writhed in the agonizing ecstasy on the flame. He could only pray that Bill made Dipper pay for what he did.