Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I love you, but you’re an idiot.

“Boss, are you still hanging in there?” Ronnie sounded concerned when she asked that, and once she parked the car, she turned around to face Bill on the back seat. The mob boss was white as snow but the harsh look in his one real eye never faltered. He was lucky in a way, that he was hit on his left side. “I’m fine, Pyronica, it’s just a flesh wound.” He hissed between clenched teeth, keeping a cloth pressed over the bullet hole in his shoulder, right underneath the ripped edge of his sleeve. Bill had torn it off before it could stick in the wound. The female driver thought he was mad and went silent, just opened the door for him and followed her boss as he left the garage, paced down the dark corridors, and eventually stopped in the smaller meeting room. “Get Amor, here will you? Tell him to hurry his ass up.” The ‘Dream Demon’ told Ronnie when she hesitated at the door. She usually wouldn’t have followed him at all, but today she was scared he would collapse or something. The blood stain on his shirt was still growing after all. But when he gave her the order, she reacted immediately and went to find the medic Bill had bought into the organization after one of his men died because he would rather bleed to death than go to jail.

Meanwhile Bill sank down on his regular chair, uttering an impressive series of curses, half of them in Italian, and all of them directed at the one who shot him in the first place. It had been in the heat of the moment, and he knew that. It was the risk he took when going out in the field himself, but of all people to worry about, the Chief of Police had not been very high on his list, not even in the direct shootout they ended up in today. But here he was, with a ruined button up shirt, blood streaming down his arm, and a lot of pain. Stanford Pines would find out soon enough that a bad aim was a terrible habit when it came to confrontations with the notorious gangster. But first, Bill needed to get this hole patched up before he would lose too much blood. Luckily, Ronnie was fast enough and got Amor to the meeting room in no time, with his kit. “Pyronica mentioned you got shot.” Was all the medic said before sitting down and taking a look at the wound. “It looks like nothing vital was hit.” He muttered while examining the place and amount of blood that trickled down the arm. “As far as I can see, you have two options. I can stitch you up, which is going to hurt now, but it will let you heal faster, or I can patch it up, which is less painful now, but you risk a lot more scarring and a longer recovery period.” Bill glared at the ceiling for a second, trying to think what the best option was now. Then he thought of something. “Patch it up. Mess with the wound as little as you can.” He said, attempting a smirk, but with the pain it looked more like a grimace. Amor didn’t like that expression all too much but did as he was told.

When the man was done and excused himself, the mob boss called in his captains to discuss the course action for now. He did make a point of changing into a clean shirt first. The bloodied one he dropped on the middle of table, and while his men filled the room, he adjusted his signature eyepatch, keeping his real eye on the door, greeting everyone with a single nod. Since he wore a short-sleeved shirt now, most of his people gave a nod back, let their eyes linger on the bandage for a second and took their regular place in the room. Only when they were all seated, did Bill’s second in command open his mouth. “Who are we killing?” A very direct question, which was usual for the guy, but today, it earned him a glare. “Nobody. I did not call the full board to kill one person.” Bill ‘The Dream Demon’ Cipher wasn’t planning to kill the one who shot him, not at all. He had other plans, but he needed his guys informed, otherwise they would get weird ideas in their head if they would meet the man who was responsible for the injury. “But boss, you got shot. Or are they already dead?” one of the others remarked, and now the boss managed a smile. “I got shot. Really now? What gave you that idea?” The sarcasm in his voice alone was almost enough to make every person in the room think twice about what they were going to say next. “And to answer your question, no. They are still alive. And we are not going to kill him. We will make him pay, but not with his life.” He placed his elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers. He wasn’t wearing his usual gloves for some reason, and his wedding ring glittered on his left hand. His Consigliere, seated on his left side as always noticed it right away and frowned, tilting his head for a second. Bill caught the movement from the corner of his working eye and turned. “Yes Kryptos?” He asked with another smirk on his face.

Kryptos looked from Bill’s face, to his hand, to the bandage, and then to the bloodied shirt on the middle of the table. His eyes went wide. “I thought he had such a good aim.” The Consigliere stuttered, and the boss gave a nod. “He does, but today it failed him, and I found myself on the wrong side of a bullet.” The captains were very confused, both by the words and the softer tone their boss was using. They weren’t very eager to just downright ask, since Bill could get very unpredictable at times, but they had to know what was going on. “Boss, what’s going on?” It was eventually one of the younger ones who dared to drop the question they all had on their mind. The gangster looked up and tilted his head. “As my right hand here stated earlier, I got shot. That’s what going on. Kryptos already figured out who did it, and I refuse to believe the rest of you are complete morons.” Bill answered, not yet giving them the answer, they wanted. He knew damn well they wouldn’t know. Not many of them had actually met the man, which was part of the reason why he had decided to have a meeting before setting the plan he was forming in motion. It would perhaps be a bit of a bombshell, but now was as good a time as ever to fill his people in. Yet he would leave them to suffer through the uncertainty for a few seconds longer before leaning back in his comfortable leather chair and giving the captains a look. “I got shot by mister Big Shot himself. That’s right, the Chief of Police and I decided to go out in the field on the same day.”

One of the men shifted in his place and looked at Bill. He was actually the one responsible for the theft and robbery part of this business and had been in contact with the man more than most. He also knew the true extent of that statement from his boss. “Stanford Pines is the one who shot you? Kryptos is right, he has an impeccable aim, how did this happen?” He leaned forward, and Bill leaned his head back. “Who knows, Keyhole, who knows? Got up on the wrong foot maybe? I don’t know, I didn’t notice anything off about him this morning.” Bill rubbed his forehead and leaned forward again, chuckling at the sight of the younger captains and their confused faces. “This morning?” Oh, the sound of their confusion. “What? You think I leave for work without having breakfast with my husband?” The boss dropped the bombshell and watched confusion and panic break out among the rookies. Some of them started protesting that their boss was a traitor and how they would all be arrested, or worse. This went on for a while, until Bill planted a knife in the table, right through the shirt, on the place where his heart would have been if he was wearing it. “Silence.” He hissed, and immediately the room went dead silent. Seeing Bill angry wasn’t high on any of their wish list. “Ford and I got married years ago, before he got promoted to the position he has now. A position I helped securing for him. Does any of you really believe I am not looking out for my people?”

They all looked down, some in guilt, others hiding smirks. The latter was coming from those who already knew they connection between the sharp shooting Chief and their boss. “Why wasn’t I informed about the fact Pines is a dirty cop?” The one who usually handled the bribery asked confused. He was really fresh into this position, hence why Bill had not yet gotten him up to date. “Because he’s not. If any of you is stupid enough to get caught, he will follow the law any time, unless I give him a really good reason not to. You all know to honour the Omerta when you get caught, so I suggest you stick to that. Ford is not on our side, and even in this room, I am the only one safe from him, Capiche?” Bill wasn’t playing around. He wanted to make very clear that his husband was very good at what he did and was a force to be reckoned with in their ranks. “However, in the light of what happened today, I am going to give you all instructions. If anyone in our family lays a finger on him without my explicit permission, I will make sure to erase your entire family from existence without batting an eye. The Chief of Police will soon be a lot less out of reach physically, but you all will keep your pretty hands off him and treat him well, or your blood while form the new décor of this meeting room, and your teeth will be found in the presidents Golf Course.” No need to be subtle, Bill knew his men understood the language of violence better than anything else. “Capiche.” It was a collective answer, and it pleased the boss greatly. “Good, then we can talk repercussions.”

That statement caused some uncomfortable whispering again, with an undertone of confusion. Bill was losing his patience. “Just because I married him, doesn’t mean I will let him walk away after shooting me. Hector, I need two of your people, and an unmarked van with driver at my house by midnight, armed but loaded with blanks. Only one real bullet.” The boss was getting down to business again. Abductions weren’t uncommon, but this was different. They had to follow a very specific course of actions, or they would meet the wrath of the one-eyed gangster. “I will tell him what they are coming for beforehand, and he knows that questioning me isn’t really going anywhere. Not that I think he will want to, after causing this.” Bill gestured at the bandage. “When you arrive here with him, I am not stopping you, or the boys you select for this task, from blindfolding him, but as I said, no permanent damage or I will have your head. And I will be checking. Do not test me unless you wish your son to go on an indefinite holiday to the bottom of the ocean.” After making sure that they all got the message one more time, Bill looked at the time and got up. “I will be heading home now, so you all know what to do. Those who don’t have things do, get out of here in time or we get suspicious activity reports again, and my shredder is getting overheated.” With that, the boss left the room, straight to the garage, where Ronnie was just done with getting rid of the scratches and holes from the shootout that day. “Good work, Pyronica. You know how much you lowered our expenses when it comes to cars? It’s been a great help.” Bill was in a much better mood now that he had his plan ready.

The ride to the house was mostly quiet apart from that. Bill took the time to change shirts again, to something a little less obviously mafia related. Ronnie didn’t even look at it anymore. She knew very well her boss did not swing that way. The first time it happened she had been a little flustered. The gangster had made it pretty clear that she was to ignore that, or he would get someone else to drive his car. Ronnie was very quick to assure him that it wouldn’t happen again, and stuck to that ever since, so further awkwardness was avoided. Bill just buttoned up his new shirt and rolled down the sleeves. While the bandage would have been covered just fine had he kept them up to the elbows, he preferred to have them down all the way, just in case. The worst part was actually trying to get his jacket sit right without hurting him, and Ronnie caught a small part of Bill’s elaborate arsenal of fine Italian curses, most of them addressed at his husband. Not in a malicious way, just out of frustration. Eventually he got the thing to sit right without the zippers resting over the wound though, and he finally removed the eyepatch, revealing the highly realistic glass eye underneath; the last part of the ‘disguise’ that separated Bill Cipher from the Dream Demon. He was still unsure how it was possible that he wasn’t caught yet. There weren’t that many blondes with Italian accents around town after all. The gangster had asked his husband a couple of times if the Chief was maybe destroying evidence, but it wasn’t the case. Eventually they all had contributed it to the fact his fedora hid most of his hair, and the tampered videos the syndicate sometimes sent out had distorted his voice enough to keep him anonymous. Bill wouldn’t suggest the cops were incompetent, he knew they weren’t.

When they arrived at the home, Bill got out on his own. Out here, they held up the story that Pyronica was simply a co-worker who happened to take almost the same route home and dropped him off. Sometimes neighbours would whisper why a man who lived in such a big house wouldn’t just buy himself another car, but nobody questioned him directly, making it easy for the gangster to just ignore them. After all, as long as they were whispering about why he didn’t have a second car, they wouldn’t start to question why they lived in such a fancy house in the first place. Surely, they would figure out quickly that Ford’s salary, even with the rank he had, would not be enough to afford it. As he unlocked the gates, Bill glanced at the neighbouring houses for a second, chuckling to himself as he saw the light curtains move. Nosy as always, and the main reason he had to be so careful with hiding his injuries and true profession outside the safety of his home, or the syndicate. An extra element of mystery was something he would rarely pass on, but sometimes he had the almost uncontrollable urge to order a hit on the surrounding houses, even if it was just to get them to stop putting their nose in his business. Today it just amused him though, considering what they might see if they were still up around midnight. It would be interesting, and he had to remember to adjust the surveillance cameras before the time was there, or they might catch faces, and the mob boss wasn’t going to have his own people be arrested over this.

Ford wasn’t home yet, so Bill had the time to prepare a few things, such as the cameras before he settled on the couch with a newspaper, waiting for his husband to end his shift. The mob boss knew exactly when that would be, considering he had seen the Chief on duty earlier that day. And the result of that was still stinging a little. All in all, it wasn’t all that strange that when Ford Pines walked through the front door of his house, he would find his gangster husband on the couch, glaring daggers at him. He pretended not to see it while hanging up his jacket and putting his gun and other equipment in the safe. Only then did he turn to Bill and took a deep breath. He knew exactly what was coming, and he deserved it too. “So, how was work?” The Chief asked with a forced smile. It didn’t help much. His husband really wasn’t happy with him at the moment. “How was my day at work? Well, let’s see. We calculated a 40% reduction in car repairs thanks to Ronnie’s team, removed the management from of the casinos in the other district, and what else was there? Oh right. You shot me.” Those last three words were almost thrown at Ford and caused him to cringe. “I know. I’m sorry. On the bright side, if anyone ever suspected either of us to be something other than enemies, they won’t now.” Ford tried to make the best of it and sat down next to Bill, carefully trailing his hand over the injured shoulder. The mob boss winced when his husband’s fingers went over the wound. “Careful Sixer, it’s only patched up for now.” He removed the hand and held it for a second. They were large, with an extra finger, hence the nickname. Usually Bill loved the sensation of that hand on him, but right now he was still angry.

“Why didn’t you get it stitched up? If I remember well, you have a medic in your hands these days. I would have thought he would have stitched it immediately.” Ford had a concerned look in his eyes, but his husband didn’t answer. “What happened, Sixer? You usually have such a good aim, why did it go wrong today?” Bill looked up at his husband. His anger was getting less intense, he had a soft spot for the Chief, and he knew it too. And of course, it was never Ford’s intention to injure him. That didn’t mean Bill would let it go like that, but he wasn’t going to keep glaring at him. He had other plans after all. His husband sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I am afraid that I can only bring more bad news here. Someone from another department was transferred to mine. An old friend, you know him well. Fiddleford is joining us, and we both know that there is no better inspector to be found in the entire country.” He sighed and Bill leaned back, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. “Porca miseria.” He muttered to himself, causing Ford to raise an eyebrow. “If you’re going to curse, do it in a language I understand, please. Don’t need you to insult Fiddleford behind my back while I’m in the room.” He mentioned, getting up from the couch. “Let me make dinner.” Bill looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think you can make up for the fact there’s a bullet hole in my shoulder with food.” He mumbled, but his expression said otherwise. Ford just chuckled and went to the kitchen, leaving Bill free to mutter another series of curses at his husband.

The Chief of police did feel really bad about the incident earlier that day. The fact Fiddleford was joining his department was going to be a problem. Bill was too good at what he did and was catching the attention from the big guys higher up. He knew very well that asking the gangster to toning it down would have zero effect, but he was worried someone would break the code of silence and rat the Dream Demon out. Ford wasn’t really fond of the idea of the mess that would bring. Because he was right there in the line of fire too. No way they could continue to hide the fact he married the local mob boss if Bill would end up in jail. Maybe they were lucky Fiddleford was the designated detective to get on this case though because they both knew him. Ford just hoped thigs wouldn’t get weird, working with his ex-boyfriend on a case about his husband. Alright, it was already weird. When did his life turn into one, giant scheme? Probably the day he met the gangster in the first place. Not that he was complaining about that fact. The Chief loved his husband very much, but everything would have been a lot easier if Bill had a normal job. No matter how good the gangster was at faking it, reality was that the Dream Demon was not a mediator. Not in the slightest, and it was a mystery why the gangster had chosen to hide behind a job in law enforcement. For some reason, his husband always got a bit defensive when it came to that subject, and Ford really didn’t think it was a good idea to irritate Bill even more than he already had today.

Luckily, he knew damn well how to get his husband in a better mood. There was one plus side about marrying into a famiglia. Italians knew how to cook, and a couple of the wives of Bill’s capos had taught him quite a few of the traditional dishes, including the Dream Demon’s favourite one. He’d been meaning to make that one for a few days now, and hopefully it would at least make up a little for the shooting earlier. Ford glanced back at his husband every now and then, waiting for the moment he would recognize the scent. When he did, Bill couldn’t stop the smile he felt coming up. “I knew it was a good idea to introduce you to the ladies.” He mumbled and decided he could as well help out, so he made the table. It took a bit of effort, given that he was trying to spare his left arm for now. Later, when it would be properly stitched, he’d be able to use it like normal again, he hoped. But right now, he tried to avoid bleeding through the bandage. Only a few more hours before he would be able to get it properly treated. It wasn’t that Amor wasn’t capable of handling this. After all, he had chosen to only get the bandage. Bill needed that gunshot wound to still be open later. But he would only explain Ford what would be happening after they both had eaten. The Chief sometimes got really cranky over the gangster’s plans if he got roped in before dinner. Very counterproductive. And besides, it would be a waste of good Cacciatore if they would eat it over a disagreement. No, food first, plan later. Damn that smell was good.

Ford didn’t let him down, and the Italian curses were replaced by compliments, which the chief didn’t understand any more than the swear from earlier. The tone however, made enough clear for the Chief to get him to smile. “You always get in a better mood after a good meal.” He commented, and Bill just chuckled. “You cook like a casaligna, Sixer. And that’s not on me. Anyway, to get back at that thing you mentioned when you came home, about nobody suspecting you and I, or rather, you and the Dream Demon have any sort of contact besides the fact you shot him, that isn’t true.” The gangster leaned back with a glass of wine and gave his husband a smile, internally laughing at the alarmed expression that appeared on Ford’s face. “What do you mean?” The chief asked carefully, but the gangster took his time before answering the question. “Well, the thing is, if you go around and just shoot me, there is about a dozen of my capos that wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head as revenge. And I can’t just let them shoot you, can I?” He had a really hard time to not burst into laughter at this point. “I have informed them that you and I are a little more than just the average enemies.” He leaned forward again and set the empty glass down. “They weren’t exactly happy with you. Called me traitor. Me, of all people.” His voice got softer, but his smirk was still in place, causing Ford to put his glass down very carefully and look his husband over. “I assume that you did something about that?” He asked, feeling himself tense up. An angry syndicate was something he wouldn’t wish on anyone, let alone his own husband. The gangster chuckled. “Oh of course. Like I said, I’m not going to let them just shoot you.” He got up and moved around the table, back to the living room, but on his way, he leaned over Ford and whispered in his ear: “If anyone is ever going to shoot you, you can bet that it’s going to be me.”

The Chief’s head snapped around to get a good look at Bill’s face, but he was too late to see if it was a joke or not. His husband just chuckled and set himself back on the couch, igniting a cigar, despite the fact Ford had asked him many times to not smoke in there. Today he would hold his tongue though, knowing fully well he had not made up for the fact he put a hole in Bill’s shoulder. Speaking of that, he’d better ask, before his husband would come up with something insane, as usual. Ford loved Bill, he really did. But a bit less Italian drama would be a lot better for his blood pressure. “Bill, I know you said you understood that it wasn’t my intention to just shoot you, but you dropped the subject a bit too quickly.” He rubbed the back of his head, not completely sure how to address this without putting ideas into the gangster’s head. And indeed, his husband reacted immediately. He looked up with a smirk. “Oh, don’t worry, Sixer. I haven’t forgotten about it, just waited for the right moment. Don’t worry, you will pay for this, and sooner than you think too.” He answered before blowing a cloud of smoke into the room. The Chief narrowed his eyes. “Pay for this? Bill, what did you do?” He was getting more suspicious, and the devious smirk on the face of the other wasn’t helping at all. “Sit down Ford, smoke one with me, will you? They were just lying around in that house. Otherwise your people would have confiscated them. Murder scene and all.” The gangster was unimpressed with Ford’s attempts to interrogate him, as he always was.

This time though, the Chief didn’t budge, so Bill just sighed. “Are you ever going to play along? Of course not. But don’t worry. All that is going to happen is that around midnight, I will have a couple of guys here to abduct you.” He leaned back as Ford sat down in one of the fine leather chairs. “I assume you selected better people than last time you attempted that. The pair you assigned then were just insulting. I thought you valued me more than that.” He answered. Protesting would come later, maybe. “Oh, don’t worry. I have since then replaced the captain in charge of that line of business. The old one is buried deeper than even your dogs can find, so don’t bother with that. Hector is very capable of finding suited associates for the job. Try not to shoot them too.” The mob boss always had an answer but did think back about last time he meant to have Ford taken out of the equation for a while. For some reason two absolute morons had been assigned to that job, and Bill had made sure they didn’t survive in prison for long. When it came to his syndicate, failure was not an option. Hector had already proven to be very good at what he did, and always managed to pick the right people for the job. Bill chuckled at the glare he saw on Ford’s face now. He wasn’t all too worried about what was going to happen. “What’s the story behind it this time?” The Chief eventually sighed, sounding incredibly exasperated, which made sense. “Revenge, mostly. I’m sure that your entire department knows that you managed to shoot me. And so, the syndicate will be taking revenge. After that, I need a few things where I don’t need the cops, so it would come in handy if their Chief is in my hands.”

It went silent in the room for a few minutes. Bill was in a much better mood than earlier, but his husband wasn’t as thrilled with all of this. He hadn’t met most of the mobster’s higher ranked confidants, but if the Dream Demon’s methods were any sort of indication of how they worked, he wasn’t expecting much good. Bill seemed to notice the mild fear in his husband and tilted his head. “Sixer, I would have expected anger, not fear. It looks wrong on your face.” The mob boss got up and walked around the chair where his husband was brooding on something. He wrapped his arms around Ford’s shoulders from behind. “You don’t think I will let anything happen to you, right? My people have been given strict orders to treat you well. Nobody will touch you without my explicit permission, and even then, they won’t hurt you unless they really have a death wish. And trust me, if they did have one, there would be less painful ways to die than by my hands. No, you won’t be in danger. Even if you haven’t met some of them yet, they won’t hurt you. They remember last time someone stepped out of line, I’m sure of that.” Bill whispered in Ford’s ear with a smile. The Chief sighed deeply. “Sometimes I really, really hate you.” He mumbled but folded his hands around Bill’s anyway. The gangster chuckled. “I love you too. And trust me. You will be safer with my people than I am with yours. And that says a lot.” The mob boss had a point, and his husband knew that very well. But that didn’t mean he’d have to like it. But then he saw the other side of this story and he rolled his eyes so hard he feared he popped a blood vessel. “Is this your idea of an excuse to play out your dramatic fantasies?” He asked and Bill gave him a playful smack on the back of his head. “Sixer, I can’t believe you would think such a horrible thing.”

Ford wasn’t convinced. “You realized you’re going to have to put up a show when they take me away.” He mentioned, and Bill couldn’t hide his glee. “Of course. After all, I would want my husband to come home safely. What am I going to do without him to protect me? There are dangerous gangsters in town, and they already broke into my house and shot me in my arm. I’m only alive because my husband complied to their demands.” His obviously fake desperate tone caused Ford to laugh. He couldn’t help himself. “Do you have to be so Italian?” He asked after managing to get a hold of himself, and Bill moved so he was in front of his husband again. “Don’t give me that attitude, Sixer. You and I both know you wouldn’t want to go without the perks that my nationality gives me. And I have to admit I was counting on a lot more protesting from you. I’d almost think you were up to something.” Ford was about to answer that, but on the other hand didn’t really want to. He knew protesting was pointless, since the plan was made already, and he had to admit it was a good way to explain why the Dream Demon and Bill Cipher had an identical gunshot wound in their shoulder. The gangster let his hand slide over his husband’s jaw for a second, before trailing down to his chest, and leaning in closer. “I know I’m joking, but never stop keeping me safe.” He gave a sly grin, his fingers closing around Ford’s tie. Before the Chief had his answer ready, Bill pulled him closer and silenced his husband effectively. Sometimes a kiss was all it took.

Today might not be one of those days though. Ford knew very well what his husband wanted, but he had to stop him this time, even if he didn’t want to. The reluctance in his voice was obvious when he actually spoke up, but the chief had to be the smartest person in the room every now and then. “Bill, with that arm of yours, and with what will be happening later, maybe we shouldn’t. You need rest. I don’t know exactly how far it is from where we ran into eachother to your base of operations, but I saw the blood when I hit you.” It really hadn’t been the best sight, immediately after their boss got shot, the rest of Bill’s people closed ranks and formed a wall between the cops and the Dream Demon. Ronnie had been there to get him in the car immediately, before any of the police corps managed to break through the defences. It had all happened so fast, that literally the last thing Ford had seen from his husband was the bullet hitting his shoulder and a red stain spreading over his shirt before his view was blocked. It was a moment he had genuinely struggled to keep up the charade. Sometimes he wished Bill would give up his life of crime and settle down. He didn’t have to continue for the money, they had more than enough to live off Ford’s salary only, but the chief knew that it wasn’t the reason the mob boss continued doing this work. Mafia wasn’t something you could just quit. The syndicate was more or less Bill’s chaotic, criminal family. And a family the gangster loved dearly, so much was clear. Despite the fact they were all notorious gangsters, whenever Ford did have grounds to arrest any member of the syndicate, they were the most polite and well-adjusted people he ever had in the back of his car. It was almost unsettling.

Yes, the Dream Demon took very good care of his people. If he didn’t have the habit of killing people in their beds, he wouldn’t even be so high on the wanted list. Yes, the reason Bill got his nickname was because he would catch people sleeping, wake them up, and then shoot them in the head. But to Ford, he was a dream demon for a whole other reason. But not tonight. Not before that wound was at least properly stitched up. Of course, Bill complained a lot, mixing a few Italian curses in it, but his husband wasn’t having any of it and eventually just picked him up and carried him over to their bedroom. “Bill, you and I aren’t getting a lot of sleep this night, and with what happened, you need rest. And I would prefer to get at least a bit of sleep before I am forced to let low-ranked criminals in my house, and take me away for the sole reason of keeping my husband from being shot in the head.” He rolled his eyes at that last part as he put Bill down on the bed. The mob boss adjusted his position a little but didn’t make much attempt to get up and ready to sleep. “What are you complaining about, mi Tesoro? You are basically heading towards a paid vacation. My work has only just started. I’m going to have to stage a crime scene in my own house. And from what I’ve heard, I’m going to have to sit through being questioned by your ex-boyfriend. I really hope Fiddleford is going to stay professional about this. I don’t want to be forced to shoot him. He’s a good man, just way too smart for his own good.” The gangster carefully stretched, wincing shortly. “Next time just aim right and shoot me in the head, will you? This is very inconvenient for all of us.” He mumbled. Ford wasn’t happy. He didn’t like jokes like those, and Bill knew that very well.

It was forgiven quickly enough, and it didn’t take long before silence fell over the house. In his heart, the Dream Demon was grateful for his husband being this set on getting sleep before the show would start. Getting shot was exhausting, and the blood loss really didn’t help. For that reason, the mob boss was sound asleep when they gangsters broke into the house. Well, used the key Bill had given his second in command for very special circumstances, such as this one. He was lucky Hector really was good at what he did, or he could have been in a lot of trouble. Because the gangster woke up to a hand covering his mouth. The light was turned on and he squinted his one real eye against the sudden light. Ford was already kept on gunpoint, but everyone seemed to be awaiting further commands. Bill sat up and gave a short nod. “Eccellente, boys. Right on time too. I have given my instructions and I suggest you follow them.” He yawned a little but glared immediately when they roughly turned Ford around and bound his hands behind his back. “I thought I was very clear when I told Hector that you are to treat him well. If I find anything on him beyond scrapes from that rope, you will be lucky if half of your family is allowed to live.” Bill was not playing around when it came to his husband’s safety. “Bring him to Hector. He knows what room I have in mind for him.” Ford moved a little. “Any idea how long before you are able to join me?” He sounded calm enough, which was a relief. The gangster shook his head. “It depends on how quick your people are with the investigation I suppose. When they’re out, it shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes. I have Ronnie standing by to come get me as soon as I can. But I will call first.”

Part of the reason Ford wasn’t protesting more was because he knew how his men worked. With the house a crime scene, Bill would probably be relocated to one of the safehouses across town. It would be interesting to see how the gangster was planning to lead the syndicate while being kept in protective custody. His men didn’t fool around with safety measures, especially not if it had anything to do with their boss, or his family. For now though, he had to endure the sight of his husband unwrapping the bandage from his arm while one of the gangsters pointed a gun at the bed and took a shot at the place where Bill’s arm would be. Immediately after, the mob boss put his arm over the hole, right as the blood started pouring out. Ford moved again, guilt creeping up on him when he saw the concealed pain on his husband’s face. “Take him out of here, don’t stop once. Hurry, I’m sure the neighbours heard the gun and are calling the police already.” Bill hissed through clenched teeth. The chief tried to voice an apology but was abruptly cut off as the intruders dragged him away. The mob boss winced and cursed the wound in his arm once again. He reached for the phone and called the emergency number. Time to play a game, and hopefully he would be given some nice painkillers. Next time he needed to kidnap his own husband, hopefully the reason wouldn’t be a gunshot wound. While the phone on the other side rang, Bill looked out the window and watched a black van take off. He couldn’t make out the license plate, which was good. If the boys stuck to the plan now, everything would be fine. And they knew better than to cross him like that. Nonetheless, it would be best not to leave them alone with him for too long. Hopefully the cops would be quick.

Right as the phone on the other side was picked up, Bill heard Ford’s pager beep. When he checked, he saw his own address, meaning the neighbours had indeed called the numbers as well. But he was already on the phone anyway, so he just let the dispatcher know where he was, what happened, and what he needed. The woman on the other end informed him that there was already a police squad on the way, but that an ambulance would be sent out immediately. He was asked to stay on the phone until they got there, and the mob boss complied. He was a hardened criminal, yes. But he wasn’t immune to pain, and it did not feel good to let the wound stay untreated like this. But the dispatcher told him not to wrap anything over it, because it might stick to the wound and only get him in more trouble. The woman assured him that he would be fine, and there was nothing he could do now, other than wait for the proper authorities to show up. Bill did not agree with her, but he was already biting his tongue to not start cursing at her, so he just went with it. But the ten minutes it eventually took the police officers and the ambulance to get to him felt like an eternity. He didn’t know how much blood he’d lost by then, but he sure wasn’t feeling good.

Luckily the EMTs were quick to examine the wound, state that nothing major was hit, confirming what Amor told him, and stitching him up. Sadly, only local numbness instead of a general painkiller, but Bill would take it for now. He needed to answer the cops after all. With how he felt now, he effortlessly slipped into the role of desperate husband. He explained how the gangsters broke into his house, how they threatened him and Ford. The rest of the statement was slightly less coherent due to the fact Bill had managed to actually start crying. Reality was that he was more exhausted than scared of course, but it worked, so who cared. He told the cops surrounding him that the gangsters had been shouting about revenge, how Ford had attempted to defend them both until the intruders shot Bill in the arm and threatened to actually kill him unless the chief complied. “He just tried to protect me. All he did was try to keep me safe, and they took him!” His voice shot up at the end of that final sentence. “Mister Cipher try to calm down, you lost a lot of blood. Officers, please be easy on him.” One of the EMTs spoke sternly, handing Bill a cup of tea. He didn’t protest, though he would have rather had a good cup of coffee. He wasn’t much of a tea person. The gangster was asked a few more questions about possible missing items, but the intruders had not taken anything but Ford. No money, nothing from the Chief’s equipment, no files, it really was just about the man. Just about revenge. A few of the officers were whispering to eachother and Bill caught just enough of it to understand they didn’t expect to find him back alive.

The mob boss was about to let them know he heard that when the journalists showed up. Great, more nosy idiots meddling in his business. Bill cursed himself for not thinking of that. Of course, when someone with Ford’s reputation was abducted, it would attract the media. Well, all he could do now was play the whole game again. It didn’t take long before he had no less than three cameras in his face. “He was just doing his job! Please, just let him come home. Please don’t hurt him.” The desperation in Bill’s voice now was due to the fact he wanted to be left alone, so he could actually get on with it and be with his husband. But as usual, reporters didn’t know when to bugger off. The neighbours who called the emergency number in the first place came out of their houses. The police first took their statements before the media swarmed them to get witness reports. And then Bill had to deal with the fact he had to thank them for reacting so quickly when they heard the gunshot. Now that the pain in his arm was gone, thanks to the numbing they put in his arm, he had at least one less thing to get worked up over, but now he had to deal with people. Bloody hell, why did this drag on for so long? It felt like he had been doing this for at least four hours, but the clock said it had been only an hour since the boys drove off with Ford. That meant that they would probably be at the headquarters by now. Hector would lock the chief up until Bill would arrive. Hopefully, his husband would be able to get some sleep.

The mob boss had not even realized he had completely zoned out until an EMT snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Try to stay alert for now, mister Cipher. Drifting off now is not a good idea.” He warned, and Bill nodded shortly, biting back one of his favourite Italian insults. The deputy chief, who was in charge now that Ford was taken away, walked up to him. The gangster knew him well. Dan Corduroy was young for his rank, but very capable. Yet with him, Bill wasn’t worried in the slightest that his cover would be blown. The man was good, but he just didn’t have the brain Ford had. He did make up for it in muscles though. Had he been on Bill’s side of the law, he would have had a very secure job as his permanent bodyguard. “Sir, the house is a crime scene now and you can’t stay here. In the light of what happened, you will be transported to a safehouse until we have finished the investigation of the house, and we are sure that you are not in danger.” Dan stated, and Bill flinched shortly. Dammit. “I understand, Dan. When are we leaving?” He asked flatly, trying to hide his anger. “Tomorrow morning, we have to prepare the safehouse first. Do you have a safe address to stay until then? If not, we will make arrangements for you at the station.” The deputy chief answered, and the gangster sighed in relief, which luckily went unnoticed. “I do. I have a trusted co-worker; her name is Ronnie-Anne. I can call her at any time of the day. Ford doesn’t know her address, so he can’t tell them if I go there.” He answered after seemingly thinking about it.

Dan gave him permission to call her, and Ronnie showed up no more than fifteen minutes later. The cops did a quick background check and finally cleared her, allowing her to help Bill pack some things and get in the car with her. The car was soundproof enough for them to discuss a few things on the way to her house. The mob boss would have preferred to drive straight to the headquarters, but they had a police escort and couldn’t get out of that without putting Ronnie very high on the wanted list. “Boss, you’re very pale.” Pyronica commented, and Bill sighed. “Yes, I know. I lost more blood than I would have hoped. Any word from base?” He asked, and she nodded shortly. “They arrived safely. I don’t know anything else, boss. Sorry.” The gangster shook his head. “It’s fine, Ronnie. I asked to lay low as much as possible. But I really hope I don’t need an armed escort too often. It’s pointless.” He groaned and adjusted his shoulders a little. “Ford Pines, I love you, but did you really have to shoot me?” He mumbled at the dashboard. “We’re almost there.” Ronnie commented, and Bill looked up. “Grazie a Dio per quello.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Maybe this is a bad idea.

It was amazing how two hours could feel like two years when all Bill wanted was to be left alone so he could make that all-important phone call. The one where he would make sure that everything was alright. That they didn’t screw everything up and hurt Ford. The mob boss had assured his husband that he would be safe, that nothing would happen to either of them. Yet there was still the truth he couldn’t deny: Bill had left Ford, the chief of police, the big boss of the cops, in the hands of lowly gangsters, ready to be delivered to the syndicate. And without his immediate protection. While the Dream Demon trusted his capos unquestionably, the same could not be said about the lower ranked members. If word got out that such a high ranked police officer was in their hands, without the news that it was in fact, their boss’s husband, there was so much that could go wrong. Bill had expected to be able to go to the headquarters, be with Ford, but that was more or less thrown out the window, now that half the corps was preparing an improvised stake-out around Ronnie’s house. He couldn’t sneak out like this, and honestly, he felt dizzy. Oh Ford, did you have to let yourself be distracted while on the job? This wouldn’t have happened like this if Bill didn’t have to come up with an explanation for the bullet wound for the public. If his husband had kept his mind on his work, instead of waiting with worrying about the Fiddleford situation until he was home and could discuss it with his husband, none of this would have happened.

Bill waited until the cops at least finished their walkthrough in Ronnie’s house, and just went to set up outside. He went to the guest bedroom, where he finally took a burner phone out of his pocket, ignoring the vague sting in his arm. Apparently, the numbing wore off. He called out for Ronnie to bring him some regular painkillers and then pressed the number to call Hector. The capo picked up immediately. “Boss? Where are you, I thought you would come to base.” No need to delay this any longer. Bill respected that. “Yes, I know. Change of plan on that area. I lost more blood than I hoped, and the cops want me under protection until they are sure I am not a target. I will call Kryptos to let him know he is in charge until further notice, and that he is to resume business as usual until I come up with a better idea. But enough of that. I want to know if Ford is there and if all instructions are followed.” The mob boss sat down on the bed, supressing a groan. Ronnie quietly entered to put a strip of pills on the nightstand and then left again. “They arrived about an hour ago. They had a blindfold on him, but not much else. I personally took him to the cell you ordered, and he seems to be fine. No injuries from what I can see. He was calm enough, but I don’t think the boys should have been with him much longer. They seemed irritated.” The capo informed his boss. “Excellent Hector. Now listen carefully. The boys who brought him in are not to go anywhere any time soon. Keep them on base, do not let them talk to anyone until I manage to be there in person, and I can talk to them myself. I don’t want the news the chief is there out in the open. Everyone who was in the room when we made the plan is everyone who has the right to know, Capiche?”

“Capiche. Anything else?” Hector was a man of little nonsense, which was welcome, especially when Bill wasn’t feeling well. “Yes, give me Ford on the phone. I need to talk to him.” Bill longed to hear his husband’s voice. He wanted sleep, but he had to hear it, had to know for sure that everything was alright. “Sir, he’s likely asleep. He seemed-…” The boss didn’t let him finish the sentence. “Did I ask? Put him on the phone right now.” Bill was angry now. “Capiche.” Hector gave up and just went into the cell he had put Ford in to put him on the phone. So, about a minute or so later, the mobster heard a croaky, sleepy voice. “Bill? I thought you were coming here, not that I would be talking to you on the phone. What happened?” Obviously, the chief had indeed fallen asleep. Not that weird, since it was past two in the morning. “I know, but your corps is being difficult. Despite the fact this is obviously retaliation for the shooting earlier, they still assume I’m in danger and want to put me in witness protection. But that’s not important. I want to know how you are feeling. Are you hurt in any way? Is the room good?” Yes, he was a gangster, a murderer and worse, but Bill took good care of his husband, and he had done as much as he could to make sure Ford wouldn’t have to lack a thing during his not at all voluntary stay at the headquarters. “The room is fine, dear. And your boys were decent enough. I’m not hurt. I’m more worried about you. I know where I hit you, and I saw how much you were bleeding.” Ford’s voice was clearer now, and some faint noise told the Italian that his husband was sitting up. “Mio caro marito, non preoccuparti, don’t worry. It takes more than just a bullet to take me out of the running. I am a little dizzy, but I’m sure that won’t last long. I hope you will forgive me for not being there right now. Hector will take good care of you until I manage to escape this stupid babysitter squadron. I am moving to a safehouse tomorrow, until I find a way to prove that I am not at risk. Be patient, okay? And you know, try not to be rude to my men.” That was an attempt at a joke.

Ford clenched a fist around a wad of his blanket. “Bill, I don’t know how you didn’t see that coming. I assume it has something to do with the fact that people who get shot generally don’t think straight. Anyway, my men don’t know much. In fact, all they know is that I shot the Dream Demon, the mafia retaliated by shooting you and abducting me. They don’t know if I’m alive, how far the gangsters will go, what they are planning now that they took out a very prominent police officer. And most of all, they have no idea that you are in even less danger than you appear to be. They don’t know that you are as good of a shot as I am. They don’t know that you are more than just a mediator in business disputes. To them, you are my husband. They failed to keep their boss safe, failed to keep the organized crime to a point they have respect for the police. They won’t want to risk anyone or anything touching you until I am back. My men will behave as they damn well should right now: protect anyone related to the victim at any cost. If you want to escape them, you have to use every last braincell you have. I will be alright, but you have to count on 24/7 surveillance until you find a way around it. They won’t ease up; you can forget about that. You should get rest and pick this back up in the morning, when you can think straight.” He explained, not allowing Bill to get a word in between until he was done. Once he was, a silence fell for a minute. “I don’t need rest, Ford. I need to get back to you. I thought there was this thing called declining protection. If I don’t want their constant eyes on me, I can refuse.” There was almost a plea in the gangster’s voice, but it wouldn’t matter. “Under normal circumstances, yes. Against all advice, a victim or their family can decline the protection program we set up for these cases. But in this case, I doubt it. I don’t think that even if you decline their help, the corps will truly leave you alone. You will be watched, even if it is from a distance. Please don’t do anything stupid or reckless. Sleep on it. Allow yourself to think straight before you make any decisions.”

Another silence, but this one lasted less long. “Fine, I’ll sleep first. I would have hoped to spend the rest of the night with you, but if you don’t want me to, fine. But I will get back to you and there is not a police force on this goddamn earth that will keep me from coming. Ti amo, mio idiota.” The mob boss concluded. “I love you too. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” After that, Ford listened to the noise on the other side, waiting to hear that beep that told him the call had ended. He slipped out of bed and knocked on the door. Hector opened it and took the phone. “He’s not coming over anymore, I know. Don’t worry, we’ll get him here.” The capo commented, but Ford grimaced. “I don’t worry about that. I worry about how many of my men will be killed in the effort to do so. I might be safe from you all, the rest are not.” He sounded grim, but Hector patted his shoulder. “As few as needed. We don’t benefit from killing officers. It puts an unnecessary target on our backs, and it means you will hire new people, which means we have a ridiculous amount of paperwork to go through to build up another profile. Trust me, our base plan is hardly ever to kill a cop. Injuring them? No problem, it is one of the risks of their job anyway, especially in this city with an active mafia group. They get paid for their injuries. But killing them creates a paper trail none of us are wanting to deal with. Don’t worry about the casualties from our side. We don’t kill innocents if we can help it. And you know first-hand how effective the boss is.” Hector was polite for a capo. It was no wonder that out of all of Bill’s men, he was chosen to deal with prisoners and other things related to civilians and family of prominent players. Ford had met him outside of mafia business a few times, during barbecues. Hector’s wife made a mean calzone, and taught Ford how to make it too. One corner of Ford’s mouth twitched. “Thanks man. And I’m sorry for everything I caused. You’d probably rather be home right now.” He muttered, returning to his bed. Hector grinned. “At least I can go home whenever I please. Rest up, chief. No matter what the boss does tomorrow, you will be shooting hostage videos. And Teeth has a Hollywood complex if I’ve ever seen one. You better be ready.” And with that, the door closed, and the lock turned. Ford buried his face in his pillow, groaning. That sounded exhausting.

The morning came too fast for both of them. Bill was woken up by Ronnie, who was antsy with the police around the house. He didn’t blame her but was irritated by their persistence. By the time Dan Corduroy came in, he was in a less than cooperative mood. “Time to go, Bill. We have prepared a safehouse at the edge of town. You’re safer there, and you won’t put your co-worker in danger.” The young officer spoke up, but Bill shook his head. “No. I refuse to hide away. They have to be able to contact me, and I can’t stay out of work. They need me there, we have deals to close and I need to be there. And again, they have to be able to reach me. How will I get updates if they don’t know where I am?” There was pain in his eyes, and it wasn’t just for show. The gangster hated the idea that he would be out the running until Ford was free. He refused to stay on the side-line while everything went down. Dan hesitated visibly. “We don’t know what else they are planning to do to you. They showed no respect at all, and Ford would never forgive us if we let something happen to you.” He tried to reason with his boss’s husband but understood where Bill was coming from. “I won’t do it, Dan. I’ll cooperate with the investigation all you want, I will stay the night at whatever safe address you see fit, but I am not going into hiding. I refuse. I need to be updated. You can’t force me to stay out of it. This is my husband we are talking about. Yes, he is your boss, but he is my husband.” Bill threw it all on emotions. Dan was headstrong, but he also had no idea how to properly talk to someone erratic due to grief or concern. The gangster watched him struggle with his desire to follow protocol and to prove that he could protect Ford’s husband after this huge stain on their reputation, but eventually gave in. “Fine, no full witness protection. We will still bring you to the safehouse, but you can bring your phone and laptop for updates. And we will let you go to work, as long as you bring security.”

Bill agreed and left to grab his things. He took the opportunity to write Pyronica a note with instructions for the headquarters and what to do with Ford in particular. The woman assured she would deliver it and retreated to the back room, with the phone Bill used last night. It would have to be destroyed. The boss already had a new burner phone in a hidden pocket. All prominent members had a stash of hem in the house for emergencies. With his things packed, Bill went downstairs, where he was greeted by half a dozen grumpy police officers. His escort to the safe house he presumed. And indeed, when he followed Dan outside, there were two unsuspicious cars waiting. The gangster sat in the back of one and watched the officers divide themselves over the vehicles. Ford had been right; it was unlikely that he would ever be without surveillance. Luckily, the cop next to him was dirty. Usually, he was paid to falsify some records, but hopefully the man was willing to step up his game and serve as Bill’s security while he went to work. The gangster knew that he had to make sure that whoever was selected for the job had to be on his side, or somehow fooled. The headquarters were disguised well, but the charade was bound to fall apart if they took unnecessary risks. Bill kept himself busy on the road there, trying to figure out how to plan his next move. It depended greatly on how well Teeth and his team executed the instructions he had Pyronica deliver to them. If that went well, he might be able to shirk a lot of risk and lighten the security to the point it was safe for him to resume his normal routine. Yet Ford’s words sounded so certain. Stupid details. Back when he made the plan, it all seemed so simple. Punish his husband for the shooting, make a huge drama show out of the abduction, then make the police run in circles until he got bored. But no, Dan had to get all uppity about his safety, despite how clear the boys made it that this was solely about Ford. If Bill was at risk of being taken too, why wouldn’t the gangsters just take him right away. Frustrating at minimum, downright infuriating at worst. But nothing he could do about it, except wait.

Ford’s morning wasn’t any easier. He was woken up by Hector with breakfast. “You’re lucky that Carmen absolutely adores you.” The capo grumbled while Ford scarfed down his frittata with great enthusiasm. “Carmen is one of the best cooks I have ever met, and she deserves to know.” He said with his mouth full. Hector rolled his eyes, but his moustache shifted, meaning the man was smiling. “I’ll make sure to let her know. When I told her you were our guest for the time being, she started fussing about feeding you right away, so I don’t think you will lack any sort of comfort. Although, Teeth is waiting for you, ready to start his drama. You might want to brace yourself for that. He won’t be easy on you. He gets along great with the boss; I think you understand why.” Two pairs of eyes rolled now. The finest Italian drama truly came from the Dream Demon. But well, Ford married him for a reason, and that drama came in many forms. The chief’s lips curled into a smile. “Bill has weird ideas, you’re right. But he is effective, and you know it. I wish I could be a fly on the wall when he is interrogated by the investigators. I’m sure he is having a field day, except the part where he can’t be present for the hostage videos. Want to bet he was already picturing himself standing menacingly over me while stating his demands?” He joked lightly. Hector laughed. “I can picture it, but you’re not entirely right. I will leave it to Teeth to explain. We’re waiting for final instructions from Kryptos. He is running the place with the boss out of reach. I’m having a time trying to keep the boys in check and sending everyone where they should go. You’d think they would be smarter than this.” He shook his head. One of said boys came in with a message. “Teeth got instructions from the boss and needs the prisoner right away. He told me to tell you to hurry up.”

Ford followed Hector right after he finished his coffee. The headquarters were massive, and down in the cellblock all the walls looked alike, so he had no idea where exactly he was when Hector shoved him into a large open room and closed the door. This was where the capo’s responsibility ended. Instead, the chief stood eye to eye with a prototype of a 1920s gangster. Striped suit, cigar, thin moustache, and a fedora. Teeth, who earned this nickname due to his bleached white smile, grabbed Ford by the shoulder. “You and I are going to have the best day. Fooling the entire corps at once, are you kidding me? I love it. Luce, telecamera, azione!” Ford blinked at the ridiculous, over the top behaviour of this man. “I- uhm, I don’t actually speak Italian.” He stuttered, sounding stunned, but Teeth wasn’t even listening to him. The man just snapped his fingers at the set assistants and almost skipped over to them. Yes, there were set assistants. Stage builders, camera people, sound technicians, even hair and makeup. The chief pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. So, this was going to be his whole day? What was next, his own stuntman? Probably not. Teeth walked around the set, instructing everyone, just generally bossing the team around actually. Ford had no clue what to do. He was a lead actor with no script to go on. But it became clear enough, at least when Kryptos came in. Because then Teeth went full drama. “Put our star on his throne. We have to do a stage check with everything in place, Avanti! Non c'è tempo da perdere, we’re already so behind on schedule.” Obviously, the director was in the best mood.

The chief of police was still too flabbergasted to properly react, so that one of the stage assistants had to come over to him and put him on a simple metal chair. That pulled Ford back to reality, especially when his hands were pulled back and once again bound together with little regard for his skin. He protested, but as soon as he opened his mouth, a wad of fabric was stuffed in and secured in place. His words were effectively cute short, and he truly felt the reality of his situation. Apparently, Teeth wasn’t satisfied. He snapped his fingers at one of the girls from makeup. She came up and the director nodded at Ford. “We’re not allowed to hurt this one, but our audience doesn’t need to know that. Fix him for me will you. Can’t have him looking cute on screen.” He then winked at the chief and skipped off to talk to Kryptos about details. Ford gave the girl a pleading look, but she ignored him completely and instead went to work. A black eye, blood trickling down from his ear, his pyjamas stained with blood and bruises on the parts of his collarbones that were visible. It was all fake, but incredibly realistic. While it certainly hurt a lot less than the real deal, Ford wasn’t sure what his husband would think of this. He couldn’t ask, but he had hoped that his look was enough to get a reaction. It seemed like he was forced to sit in silence until it was over.

Or not. Kryptos came over to him, leaning against the table nearby. He was armed with a gun and wearing a mask over the lower half of his face, slightly distorting his voice as he spoke up. “Boss has me film with you. Apparently doesn’t trust anyone else to be on camera with you. You put us in a dangerous situation, Capiche? Had you been married to anyone else; you would be in a ditch with a bullet in your head. But instead, here you sit, and we’re forced to do this. I hope you realize how lucky you are in that sense. Oh, and just so you know, if you ever happen to divorce him, or things go south for any reason, we will kill you.” Ford wasn’t impressed by those words, no matter the tone. He knew those threats were empty. If he ever were to divorce or turn against his husband, the gangster would be the first to pick up the gun. No, he had nothing to fear from the rest of the syndicate. Kryptos looked at Teeth. “How was that for a soundcheck?” He piped up, and Ford rolled his eyes again. Really? He was being threatened with murder for something as blatant as a soundcheck? They had to be kidding him. Did Bill do this on purpose? Was this the real punishment for shooting his husband? Probably. The chief refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him uncomfortable, so he resisted the urge to move, and simply kept staring at them until Teeth got fed up and gave the thumbs up. “What’s the time?” He asked and Kryptos chuckled. “Five minutes until we go live. The boss will be on the other side of the screen, watching us directly. This will have to be the best one we ever did. Nobody can fail at any point. As I said, it’s live, and he won’t be on screen, he is our target audience.” He declared, and with that, Ford went white, which only added to the illusion. In five minutes, he would be staring into the camera, and apparently into Bill’s eyes. His husband would see him like this. Yes, it was all fake and played, but still.

It would be a two-way street it appeared because a laptop was placed under the camera that was pointed at his face. Ford looked at the screen and actually felt better. No matter how bad this was going to be, at least he got to see Bill’s reaction first-hand, instead of having to rely on the words of the gangsters that surrounded him. He had hoped to have them be directly supervised and ordered around by his husband, but as expected, the force had wrapped him up in a safety blanket like they absolutely should. The light above Ford’s head was turned off, and he was unexpectedly hidden by an almost pitch-black darkness. The only thing he could see was a red light on the camera. Time for action. The screen of the laptop turned on, and he could see the spinning wheel, a connection was being made. A shadow moved in front of him, blocking his sight to the screen. He wanted to yell but couldn’t. Hidden by the darkness, he fought against the rope that kept him in the chair, but to no avail. A light turned on again, in front of him, still leaving him in darkness, but illuminating whoever had stepped between him and the screen. Kryptos, with a hand on the gun he now had in a holster on his hip. Of course, someone had to do the talking. The chief leaned to the side, trying to see around the consigliere, catch a glimpse of the screen. A hand took his shoulder and pushed him back upright before he succeeded. Cold steel shortly pressed against his throat. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to warn him to be quiet and still. Don’t interrupt or they would break their promise to the boss. Their compliance had limits, and Bill wasn’t there to step in. Ford closed his eyes, taking as deep a breath as he could right now. His mouth was already starting to hurt. Hector had warned him that this was not going to be pleasant. Oh Bill, please make it quick. And find a way out of that security bubble they made. It wasn’t for the first time that he hoped Bill would outsmart his men. But if Fiddleford was going to be involved personally, they would have a serious problem. The man was smarter than any other investigator they ever had on the corps so far.

On the other side, Bill had arrived in the safehouse. It was actually nice, considering the fact it was usually empty and vacant. He was sitting at the kitchen table with Dan and the new investigator. Fiddleford was looking the gangster up and down, chewing on his lip. The man’s leg was bouncing up and down, very irritating. Every few seconds, one of three men glanced at the phone and the laptop on the table. The interrogation had to wait until after, because interrupting it for the hostage video was counterproductive. But the waiting, it was unbearable. Nerve-wracking and with every second, Bill got more and more antsy. The mob boss kept glancing at the clock. One minute left. Time never went slower than right that moment, while they were waiting, and when the window finally popped up, he early launched himself off the chair, ready to click the accept button. Dan stopped him, gave a look at the techie on the side, and only after thumbs up came, did he give Bill permission to answer the call. The gangster’s hand was shaking as he pressed the button and looked into the eyes of his second in command. A shock went through him, and he had to hide his intense relief to the people in the room. They made it. Kryptos had gotten his message, all was well. He leaned back a little so Fiddleford, and Dan could see the screen as well, and then started fiddling his fingers, appearing incredibly nervous. He was, but for a different reason than the others would think. Kryptos seemed to smile, it was hard to tell with the mask on. “Bill Cipher, I would say good morning, but I don’t believe you had the best night of your life.” The consigliere started his speech.

Bill clenched his fists shortly. “Where is Ford? What have you done to my husband?!” He asked angrily, at which the man raised a gloved hand. “All in due time. I see you have company. I assume they are colleagues of the man we are so privileged to call our guest. I recognize mister Corduroy but be so kind to introduce your other friend.” Bill sighed deeply. “Inspector McGucket. They are here to make sure Ford comes home safely. Now where is he?!” Clearly, he wasn’t going to let it go. “Impatient much? He’s safe and sound. After all, he’s worth so much more alive. But that could change if your little friends get in the way too much. That reminds me, Dan. Take a good look at this. Because if the police step out of line and we are forced to kill this guest, you’re next.” And with that, Kryptos finally stepped aside and the light behind him turned on. Ford was left in full view and even Bill gasped at the sight of the state he was in. The chief of police didn’t look directly into the camera, but kept his eyes slightly below it, most likely at the screen. He saw the despair in his husband and doubted it was fake this time. Bill had no way of knowing the injuries were fake. At least he had no way to confirm they were fake without giving them away. He didn’t want to do this. Ford wanted to have his husband in the same room, or at least the same building while this was going down, so that he could reassure that everything was fine, and the gangsters were still following orders. Bill reached out for him it seemed but cringed halfway through and covered his injury with his good arm. Ford closed his eyes, feeling guilty. Fiddleford got closer, studying the surrounding he could see, trying extremely hard not to look his ex in the eyes. His task was to find out where they took him and how to get him out. Dan took over the conversation, with his usual lack of diplomatic experience.

“Scoundrel. Thieves, scum of the Earth, you’re insane if you think you will get away with this. We will find you and we will prosecute every last one of you.” He growled. Wrong reaction. The man on screen pulled a gun from his hip and pressed it against Ford’s temple. Bill let out a shriek. Fiddleford held his breath and even Dan backed off. “I suggest you watch your mouth, deputy chief. As I said, you will be next if he is to die. But before we get to that point, you will have to live with the knowledge that he died while you were in charge of getting him out of this horrible situation. You will have to look his husband in the eyes and tell him that you failed. Are you prepared to have his blood on your hands for the sole reason of being unable to keep your mouth shut?” Kryptos was unable to hide the glee in his voice, which made Bill nearly panic. He trusted his consigliere, but this was Ford. While yes, his husband shot him, this was not what he intended when it came to the punishment. He reached out and pulled Dan back, wanting to physically get between his second in command and the man he loved with all his heart, but settling for an intense glare that hopefully made clear that Kryptos was to control himself. “What do you want? What do I have to do to get him back?” The mob boss asked, his jaw clenched. Luckily, the man went back to business. “Now we’re talking. But you’re not the one I should be talking to. You can only sit back and hope your little friends don’t mess up. Call it collateral damage, I don’t care. We don’t want anything from you. What we want is that your buddies over there back away. We will be conducting more serious business over the upcoming days, and we would like to do that in peace.” He laughed shortly, and put the gun down, which made both Ford and Bill relax a little bit. “You see, my boss isn’t one to explain his full plans to just anyone. He would have loved to be here in person, but thanks to our guest here, I was sent in his place. We will send you regular updates on how the cops are behaving, Bill Cipher, but we’re not doing business with you. From now on we will send our demands to the station directly. If you really need to talk, ask around. It will come back to us.” He chuckled again and then the connection died.

Bill punched a hole in the drywall with his good hand and let out a desperate wail. Fiddleford tried to compose himself and Dan was pacing up and down. The mob boss wanted to curse and yell at the deputy chief. While technically everything went according to plan, he was worried sick about Ford’s condition. His shoulder was stinging, he was being held in this house against his own free will and his men were having a field day with his husband. Curse the police, curse their rules, curse his own brain for overlooking this fact and most of all, curse his men for being too good at breaking rules. He had to trust them. They had been nothing but consistent all this time. But never had they been so close to Ford without him there. Never did he have to leave them be with something so close to him. Bill was barely holding himself together, and then Dan had to open his cursed mouth. “At least we know he is still alive. Now all we have to do is get him back and get those rats in jail.” He commented with a grunt. The gangster turned towards him with a look of utter disbelief on his face. “Are you crazy? Did you even hear what they said?! They will torture him, disfigure him, do I don’t know what to my husband, just because you have zero sense of tact in your body. Back off, Dan. I’m begging you.” His voice cracked. Fiddleford crossed his arms and sighed, leaning back. “Are you suggesting we listen to criminals? This isn’t a movie, mister Cipher. The fact of the matter is that Dan is right. However, he should not have put his chief in danger like that. I read your file, Corduroy. Diplomacy is not your strong suit. I will be handling the contact between the kidnappers and us. You have to focus on making sure this doesn’t get out of hand.” Fiddleford was scared but managed to keep it together for now. He stayed on track. He had to. Later, when he had time, he would have a proper panic attack.

Bill stared at his husband’s ex for a while before sighing and sitting down, becoming more and more aware of the recent blood loss and the pain in his arm. “Don’t call me mister Cipher. My name is Bill. I don’t care how formal you want to be with the past as it is, I am just Bill.” He let out, and the inspector gave a nod. “Fine. We still have to do the interview if you think you can handle it.” He went over to the next order of business. Bill had to backtrack before he understood what the man was talking about, but then fully turned towards Fiddleford. “I will help however I can to get these bastards, but not with him anywhere near me or the investigation.” He gestured vaguely at Dan. The deputy chief protested, but Fiddleford sent him out of the room. “I don’t blame you. Now. Interview starts at-.” He looked at the clock. “12:34pm. Investigating officer: Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Interviewee: Billiam Luciano Cipher. Case: abduction of Stanford Filbrick Pines, crime claimed by the Nightmare Syndicate. Location: Gravity Falls, Oregon. Interviewee will be called by his common name Bill for the duration of the interview.” He started the recording with these words, entirely following protocol. Bill made a face at the sound of his full first name. There was a reason he never used it. What were his parents even thinking when they came up with that? But at least the short version wasn’t bad. “Bill Cipher, please describe the actual event.” Fiddleford looked the gangster in the eyes. “Well, we were sleeping. We went to bed early that day, you know. Must have been around midnight when I woke up with a hand over my mouth. Ford was held at gun point. There were two of them, they had masks on, but I heard a familiar accent. Italian, I think.” Bill started, thinking back, and trying to stay clear of too many defining factors. He knew exactly who the boys were, but the police wouldn’t find them anyway. “As soon as I was awake, I had a gun pointed at me too. Ford stopped fighting as soon as I was in immediate danger, and the one who held him on gunpoint tied his hands. He was really strong. Ford resisted when the man started to drag him away and then the other guy shot me. It’s a blur what happened after, but they managed to drag Ford away. I was in a lot of pain. I couldn’t see the license plate, but I know they left in a van. A black van I think, but I was half in shock. I called the emergency number, the lady told me to stay on the phone until help had arrived. I did.”

When the story was concluded, Fiddleford took a second to mull it over. It sounded believable and exactly like Ford. No regard for his own safety at any point. Only when it came to something he truly cared about. “Fine. The camera footage of your front gate shows that you changed their position earlier that day. Do you have any reason for that?” He continued the interview. Bill nodded, guilt in his eyes, fake but convincing. “I do, but I didn’t mean to adjust their position. We have squirrels that like to hide nuts underneath the bases of the camera. It happens every year, and I was measuring the base to wedge a block underneath so they can’t do that anymore. I must have accidentally moved them from their original position while doing that. Did you get the license plate at least?” He asked, sounding hopeful. Fiddleford shook his head. “One was blocked off by a bush and the other point too far down. I’m sorry, we didn’t get a plate. We are trying to find the van through other traffic cams, but they are scarce, and we don’t know which route they took. Can you describe what happened leading up to the incident? Anything out of the ordinary?” It was painful, to pry for all these details. The inspector knew this, but he had to. It was his job, and this was personal. Bill sighed deeply. “If you want to know why they did this, I have a vague feeling it has to do with what Ford told me when he came home. He shot their boss, Fiddleford. That’s why he wasn’t on screen. He’s wounded, and they retaliated by kidnapping my husband. He was just doing his job, and now they have him in their claws and I don’t know if I will even see him again.” Bill choked up and the inspector nodded sadly. He knew, but he had to check what Bill knew. The conclusion the man had drawn was very believable: Ford had been taken to pay for what he’d done. That was the reason he was in such a state while on camera. And they wouldn’t kill him because they wanted to punish him. Bill’s shot wound wasn’t an accident either. It was planned from the beginning, but the chief had given them the perfect excuse. And the worst part was that the two of them were kept separated while each of them went through absolute hell.

Bill stared out the window, an empty pain in his eyes. It was exaggerated but not fake. He wanted to be with Ford, he had to make sure that everything was alright. Fiddleford sighed deeply. “You work in corporate law?” He asked, to complete the background check and make sure there were no possible leads that would suggest this was about anything other than simple revenge and making sure the police knew what the consequences of shooting the notorious Dream Demon were. “Yes, I do.” Bill was confused about this sudden change of subject, but curious enough to continue to engage in the conversation. “Is there anything you are working on at the moment that could be relevant to the current situation? Something that would jeopardize your safety or warrant anyone to gain leverage over your decision making?” Best to stay diplomatic right now. Corporate law was a minefield. Bill shook his head. “Absolutely not. I am currently working on an affair about copyright claims from a tourist attraction a few counties over. It has nothing to do with this and it certainly doesn’t warrant an abduction. I mean, I have these cases most of the time and they never lead to any sort of threat. Besides, the restaurant is so far away from anything even remotely Italian that it would seriously shock me if they had anything to do with this. They should have asked me for documents if this was about the case. No, I don’t think it is.” He answered calmly. He knew for a fact there was indeed a copyright claim filed because it was served to Teeth’s favourite diner. Perhaps the mob boss would shoot up the place once this was all over, just to get some of his frustration out and to punish the gangster for scaring him. There were plenty of options to get the dramatic director to back down when it came to this. Bill really wasn’t amused with how much they scared him. Even if everything would be fine when he would go and see his husband again, there were reasons enough to do something about it.

Fiddleford asked for a few more details, but the interview was ended soon after. For now, they had what they needed. A solid lead, a way to stay in contact with the kidnappers, and nearly guaranteed safety for Bill. The latter voiced his preferences to have a certain officer shadow him to work. When asked why this particular person, Bill just shrugged. “He seems like the kind of person to blend in with the background well. I don’t constantly want to feel like there is someone looking over my shoulder as I work. Ronnie is already annoyed enough that she had her house rummaged through in the middle of the night. I can’t blame her for that, and I don’t want to make the rest of my colleagues uncomfortable with the presence of a police officer, no offence to any of you though. I mean, we are still working in law enforcement, and it would just make all of us way too jumpy. I hope you understand.” He explained while carefully rubbing his injured shoulder. Clearly shrugging was a terrible idea right now. Luckily Fiddleford understood what Bill meant right away and agreed to have him on the case and guarding him while at work. And it was quickly decided that it would be enough to have the same officer stay with the mob boss in the house at night. Basically, it meant that Bill had a live-in bodyguard until it was all over. The officer accepted his task silently and went to make arrangements with his current roommates, to let them know he wouldn’t be home for a couple of days. Maybe longer. Luckily, he wasn’t married, or seeing someone. It made it all the more doable for all parties around. Fiddleford checked if they maybe had been incredibly lucky and managed to trace the signal of the live connection, but he wasn’t all too hopeful. And indeed, they had managed to block the trackers long enough to remain invisible. The police were no closer to finding out where their chief was hiding. Dan eventually gave them orders to pack up and leave and told Bill to forward any message he received on Ford’s condition.

As for the chief himself, he was doing just fine. When the connection was cut, Kryptos turned around and removed the fabric from the man’s mouth. “Don’t look at us like that. At least not at me. You think I’m tired of life? We keep our promises to the boss. He gave us very clear instructions for this.” He smirked and Ford glared at him. His mouth was bleeding, but he ignored that for now. “You scared him, and you don’t care what he will do to you for that? I thought you knew him better than thinking this was a good idea. At least I would hope so.” He snapped, and the consigliere tilted his head. “Why don’t you enlighten me with the knowledge you have of him? Most of us have known him for longer than you do. You might have married him, but we are his famiglia. Has he never told you about the bond between a mob boss and his underlings? We are more than just an organisation. But do your best, tell us what we don’t know yet.” He crossed his arms, a very satisfied grin on his face. Ford hesitated for a second, but that didn’t last long. “You forget that he has been shot. He’s emotionally unstable. It was never his intention to be put in that house by my officers. He was supposed to be here, and I think you are aware of that. But he isn’t and now he has to sit through a meeting where you openly threaten me without him being able to get between us. You sound very happy when you do that, and on top of that, I am covered in injuries that make it look I was beaten to a pulp for a while right before I was put in this chair. He isn’t going to be happy, and you know it.” The chief stated. Kryptos didn’t react immediately. Instead, he got up, grabbed a knife from one of the guys in the room and cut through the rope that bound Ford’s hands. The chief massaged his sore wrists.

When the consigliere finally deigned to answer, he sounded a lot less pleased. “Perhaps, but we never did anything against his orders. He knows how Teeth works, and he knows how we are.” Kryptos didn’t mention that usually when people were seated in that metal chair, they actually were beaten to a pulp beforehand. Of course, the girls were still skilled in faking the injuries, just in case, or for when they had to appear injured themselves, but usually people truly were in a sorry state when they underwent the drama that was Teeth and his production team. Maybe Ford had a point, but that didn’t mean he had to know that. After a short silence, he did add another thing. “You should find Hector just outside the door. If you ask nicely, I’m sure he will let you take a shower. We aren’t savages. The boss even has a spare set of clothes lying around somewhere. I’m sure Hector already found it.” Bill had given them instructions on giving Ford a few more privileges while he was kept by the Syndicate. Showers, good food, fresh clothes unless he had to be on camera, and some entertainment. Books mostly. Everything except his freedom or anything that would allow him to get a message out into the world to let the police know where he was. Bill was doing all he could to be reunited with his husband, but until he managed it, they would have to make this work. Ford was grateful, and when he was dressed in a set of clean clothes and returned to his cell with a stack of detectives, he decided that he might as well sit this one out. Bill had been entirely right when he said that Ford had been headed towards a paid vacation. Apart from the discomfort during the videos, he was just fine. As long as the gangsters followed Bill’s orders, the chief could have an easy life. But it shouldn’t take Bill much longer to get away from his men, or he feared that the mob boss wouldn’t leave the officers alive. The Dream Demon was lethal, and there was no mistaking that.

Chapter Text

How to escape the law without actually escaping.

“Sir, are you absolutely sure you want to give me this chance?” The man asked as soon as he and Bill were out of earshot from the police officers that were stationed in and around the safehouse. The mob boss on the back seat raised an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know any better, I would start to think you prefer to remain one of my eye-bats around town. This is your chance to step up your game, and really make a name for yourself.” He popped a painkiller and grinned. It wasn’t his old, devious grin from before the abduction of his husband, but it was getting there again. “Who knows how far you can climb. So far you have earned the privilege of me knowing and remembering your name. You’re Bud, aren’t you?”

Bud Gleeful was one of the police officers Paci-Fire had bribed into turning a blind eye whenever the Nightmare Syndicate was on the loose again. Bill wasn’t sure, he would have to ask the Capo, but he believed that Bud was that one who had been bought in by promising to teach him the finer tricks of carjacking and sleazy sales. The seemingly goody two shoes officer had a dream of selling used cars, with little regard of the origin of the vehicles. This information had made him extremely interesting to be bought into the Syndicate, which Paci-Fire had promptly done. And said syndicate had kept their word: Bud was indeed receiving training on the fine arts of conning gullible people by selling them shiny but terrible cars. His current girlfriend was also getting her part of the profit; a stable job at the office, where she worked as the receptionist. They had a knack for it, and the Syndicate was careful to keep this fact a secret from the police force. They didn’t want to lose their pawns, especially because the man was often at the station and had access to the files, and the girls was doing an excellent job as well. Bud had deleted evidence more than once and was always generously paid for these services. For that reason, he was loyal to the Syndicate, which was exactly what the mob boss needed right now.

The car they were in was not wired, thank God, and as far as they knew it wasn’t being tracked either. Not that it mattered; the building they used as their headquarters was inconspicuous enough. It looked like any office building, and if anyone were to enter and go the receptionist, Bud’s girlfriend, they would be neatly directed to endless rows of office rooms that were either vacant or filled with people doing business. Because far from everything going on at the Syndicate was actually illegal. Besides, there was an idiotic amount of paperwork going on. They had to keep track of all their possessions, the profit they turned and the risk factor of every operation. Unless a visitor would manage to get access to a computer and find the right files, they wouldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Bill also paid a cleaning crew very well to remove any blood stains in the building. Not that this was common, it was just in case. Their level of secrecy was not just out of necessity though; it was also because the mob boss took great pleasure in the sheer drama of it all. He had done it because he could. If he could get away with it, why not do it?

“I’m sorry I doubted you sir, it won’t happen again.” Bud sped the car up a little. He was going above the speed limit now, but only so much that the speedometers of the police force wouldn’t pick up on it. Bill leaned back again in the seat with a self-satisfied grin on his face. “I know it won’t, Buddy. You’re smarter than that. And now let’s see how fast you can get to your tesoro without getting in trouble. It would be very annoying if we were pulled over for a traffic ticket.” His tone was playful, but he meant it. Honestly, there was a reason why the mob boss had a personal driver most of the time. Ronnie always got him places quickly and safely, without ever drawing the attention from the traffic cops. Bud was so much lower in the ranks and didn’t have the same kind of skill, but he would have to make it work for now. And with Bud overtaking a few cars, there seemed to be hope that he would be at the headquarters before he would lose his patience. It had been too long, too many uncertain factors between now and the last time he’d seen his husband. He had to make sure Ford was okay, and he absolutely had to tell Ford that he was alright now. Despite being tired more easily and slightly shaky and feint after the blood loss, he was cleared to go to work, if he took it easy. Five long days of waiting had passed before they let him, and Bill was truly losing his mind. But no matter how much he had been complaining and trying to convince that stupid doctor who came by the house every day that he felt fine and strong enough to go, they wouldn’t clear him earlier. Right now, he was using his snarky nature to hide his impatience, but he could almost feel the tension rise in Bud Gleeful.

But finally, finally they made it to the headquarters. The car was let through as soon as the repair people saw the boss on the backseat and didn’t bother to ask if there was anything amiss. The expression on the Dream Demon’s face as he entered the building without his usual eyepatch and work attire was enough to make them get out of his way as soon as possible. And that was proper judgement on their part, because as soon as the car was parked, Bill got out and walked to the nearest closet where he had a spare set of clothes ready. No concern for anyone who might see him half-naked, the Mob Boss changed outfits and put his eyepatch in place. There, that was better. He looked like himself again, or at least the self he was at work. Perhaps strange, but it always made him feel better to separate the two parts of his life like that. The fact they had mixed already didn’t matter. Right now, he was primarily the Dream Demon again, instead of Bill Cipher. Next step was to find Hector and get him to tell where the two kidnappers were, and an update on Ford’s condition and current mood. The last few days it had been near impossible to get a proper message through, with all the security at the safehouse. Bill was worried sick.

Luckily, it was easy to find Hector, as his Capo was sitting in his designated office. Bill walked in without bothering to knock, as usual. The man knew his boss didn’t care much for such niceties and always just barged in. Hector got up and greeted the mobster with a neutral face. He wasn’t sure if he should be worried about Bill’s state of mind or elated that the head of the Syndicate was finally back in the house and Kryptos could take a few steps back. The Consigliere was far too uptight for his taste. Bill just gave a nod. “Where’s the boys who got him here?” He asked curtly. “Guest corridor, second room left.” A hint of confusion in the answer, but no explanation was given. “Good. How is Ford doing?” The Dream Demon shifted slightly, and his tone changed when he asked that. Hector’s mouth twitched, but he managed to avoid smiling. “He’s fine. The scrapes and minor bruises from the kidnapping are gone by now. He is getting restless though, and I have a feeling we shouldn’t leave him alone with Teeth for too long.” That was about true. He left out the part where the Chief of Police had caused a ruckus by walking past the room where his kidnappers were staying. He figured it wasn’t important. Probably just frustration on his part about the rough treatment on the way there. In about twenty minutes he would wish he had warned the boss about it anyway.

Bill first went to the two boys. He wanted to tell them they did well, drill into them that their job was private matter and should not be shared with anyone under any circumstances, and then perhaps promise them a bonus for completing the job without any issues. Until he actually opened the door and entered the room, to be greeted by two very nervous goons. His amber coloured eye wandered over the room, narrowing as he saw guilt seep into their expressions. Nobody moved for what must have felt like ages for the two. They were young, but not exactly inexperienced. Bill knew that these two had successfully carried out abductions before. Why would they be so nervous all of a sudden. And then, a split-second reaction from one of them. A minimal shift in weight, and a glance shot at the pillow so carelessly tossed into a corner. Which seemed out of place. Bill tilted his head but didn’t speak a word. Both goons nearly jumped out of their skin when he just stepped forward and casually tossed the pillow back onto the bed it came from. “I see.” He then said, his one eye fixated on what had been hidden underneath it. “You even took the spare pantry key. It’s almost surprising you didn’t just take the key rack itself.” His tone was flat, nothing hinted at the rage that was boiling inside. “This does change a few things. I think I owe Ford an apology. After all, I insisted it wasn’t us who robbed the houses of our victims after we took them from their homes. And here I was thinking I pay my people enough to not have to resort to such low deeds.” He collected the keys and put them in his inner pockets. “It’s not nice to steal from your own boss either.” He added, then walked to the door. Before he left, he took pulled his gun and gave them both a third eye. Traitors were useless to him.

After a short detour to the cleaning crew to tell them there was a biohazard in the guest wing, he moved deeper into the basement section of the headquarters. Here the rooms were far more private. This was where the truly illegal parts of the Syndicate were situated, out of sight and safe from prying eyes. It was where the cells were, for lack of a better word, it was where certain stolen goods were stashed away, where fake passports and ID cards were made, as well as counterfeit money. It was where they kept the documentation of their business. And it contained a separate wing of rooms Bill had requested in case of emergencies. These rooms were reserved for high ranked members of the Syndicate and a lot fancier than the rooms upstairs. They could still be locked, just in case, but usually the people who the rooms were made for carried the keys. Bill, of course, had keys for all of them and promptly used it on the right door. The one where they had put his husband.

Ford looked up from what he was doing when the door suddenly opened. It wasn’t lunch time yet and Hector said no videos today, so he wasn’t expecting anyone. “Amore Mio, six days feels like eternity without you.” He heard from the doorstep, and immediately his face lit up. “Bill! Oh god, finally. Nobody would tell me what was going on if you were alright. I didn’t even see you on any screens anymore.” He got up and wrapped his arms around his husband’s slim frame. Bill didn’t even protest. “Medics wouldn’t clear me for work. I have managed to be allowed out during office hours to continue doing my job, but other than that I am still babysat by half the police corps.” He answered. “Fiddleford took over the communication with the Syndicate after Dan’s idiocy, but nobody is keeping either of us in the loop about the other. Maledetto quel maiale, Dan could have ruined everything. I know he’s a capable cop, but this just makes me wonder why he of all people is your second in command.” The Dream Demon was careful but did return the embrace. He needed the touch, the warmth of his husband’s arms. They ended up on the bed and Ford carefully inspected the stitched and bandaged wound on Bill’s arm. “It looks better. You have always been resilient.” He mentioned, and Bill gently took the hands away from the injury. “Yes, the medic who took a look at it was puzzled too. We can only thank il Dio for that gift of mine, or it would have taken me weeks to escape my nannies.” It was a joke, but only half. Ford didn’t laugh, he was conflicted. On one hand he was glad to be reunited with Bill, on the other hand he wanted to scold his husband for not seeing this coming from miles away. Clearly the whole abduction had not been thought through completely. And he was also concerned about Dan’s way of leading the force. Perhaps the Dream Demon was right when he said that the Chief hadn’t made the smartest decision. Would the deputy chief be able to handle the Syndicate’s crimes while still being diplomatic enough to not have anyone killed?

All of that reminded him of something actually. The Chief studied Bill for a few seconds, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Mi Tesoro, stop looking at me like that. It almost makes me think you have something in mind to make this even more complicated.” The mob boss sighed deeply, but Ford shook his head. “No, I just was thinking about our conversation when you told me about the plan. You said there was something you needed done that would require me being out of the running for a while. Is there any chance you’ll tell me what it is you’re planning, just so I can be prepared for the aftermath that I undoubtedly will have to deal with. Also, now that we are mentioning things that happened or will happen, those two men who came to collect me have stolen all of our keys. I noticed when I walked past their room when I was looking for paper.”  He then said. Bill addressed the latter comment first, as it was shorter. “Yes, I went to tell them good work, but I saw that instead. It’s not the first time either. Remember how you complained that people first went missing and had their houses ransacked after? I thought it was one of our rivals, but it turned out to be those two idioti. If only they had kept their hands to themselves this time, they could have kept at it for a long time too, until your men would finally track them down. Now they’re being cleaned up by my team and I have to give them a bonus again for hiding bodies. Sciocchi.” He shook his head, ignoring the shock on Ford’s face.

“But now onto what this is truly all about, beyond payback for this.” Bill gestured at his arm vaguely. “You know how a few weeks from now, the museum will have an exhibition switch, and the pieces on loan from the Vatican and Florence will be returned to their respective cities. The pieces will be packed up a few days before they have to be shipped, and during this, they will be in the warehouse behind the museum, which is considerably less secure than the museum itself. If I had my people break into the museum, the chance of them being caught is almost 100%. The warehouse however, on a good day, has five guards. Mostly it’s even just one. The security system hasn’t been updated in years. It’s a miracle this didn’t happen sooner.” He snickered and then carefully stretched before leaning back. Ford was confused. “What do you need with those exhibitions? I don’t recall any part being related to the Syndicate in any way.” He mentioned, and his husband gave a nod. “Very good, Sixer. Nothing has even the slightest hint of a relationship to the famiglia. But it does have a couple of old documents belonging to the great Da Vinci himself that I want to borrow, and I want a certain piece from Rome. It’s not something I want specifically for the items, Sixer. I want them because of who they belong to. There is some quarrel between the Nightmare Syndicate and his Holiness over in the Vatican. My father never had the chance to settle the score, but I do, and I will. The reason I need you out of the way for it is because you know how to divide your men between several locations effectively, and still being able to stop my people.”

Bill paused there and got up. “I’ll be right back. I had the boys stock up on something when I made this plan and realized you would be here for a while.” He came back with a large bottle of red wine and two glasses. The chief shook his head with a chuckle. “Bill, it’s eleven in the morning, isn’t this a little early to start drinking?” He asked, but the mobster shrugged, which made him grimace shortly. “It’s five in the afternoon in Italy, so no. And it’s just wine. Come on Sixer, just drink a glass with me.” He didn’t even wait for the other to agree, but just poured two glasses and handed his husband one of them before sitting down again. “To get back at the issue where you asked why I needed you out of the running, there’s also the local bank. Yes, we robbed them before and got away with it while you were in the field, but this is different. At one of the days that the museum pieces I am interested in are stored in the warehouse, a transport of clean bills is coming in, and we recently learned that someone I don’t like has opened a bank account here. I don’t care if it was deliberate or not, but it is an act of blatant disrespect, and I will make it clear to him that this is my territory, and he can go vaffanculo.” He finished his explanation and took a sip of his wine. Ford decided he didn’t want to know what that last word meant. It undoubtedly was insulting, and he had more than enough experience with Bill’s dictionary of insults to know that most of them were far from mild. Instead, he just thought everything over. It made sense, sort of, and he was glad to know what was going on.

If this was the plan however, then it meant that Ford had to remain with the Syndicate for a while longer, and there was no way he would be released soon. It meant he wouldn’t be there to keep an eye on Fiddleford as his ex-boyfriend got settled into the Gravity Falls police corps. He wouldn’t be able to guide the inspector away from the dangerous truth of the situation, and that would undoubtedly become a problem. Fiddleford was smart, and without someone to twist a few sensitive details, it was only a matter of time before the man would figure out who Bill was, and what it meant for the whole town. Ford sighed deeply as he thought it over. His husband didn’t talk; the mob boss knew the other well enough to stay silent and let the chief work it all out for himself. He would realize soon enough that the abduction had been planned for a little longer, but that the shooting was never part of it, nor the timing. Originally, they had wanted to only take Ford the week before the whole operation was planned and put more pressure on Dan to lay low until it was over. The shooting had thrown them off, and Bill had rethought the plans in very little time, hence the various parts that had slipped by.

They drank wine in silence until Ford sat up straight again. “If you’re only here during office hours, you will be sleeping at the safehouse, under supervision of the corps. That means that if you have any more calls planned with Fiddleford and his team, they will be during the normal times. Dan should be patrolling, so not much risk of him being careless around the Syndicate and making this harder.” He mentioned, and Bill just chuckled. “Yes, I haven’t been able to shake my babysitters completely. It’s very annoying, and I haven’t figured out what to do about the poliziotto. I will figure it out though. I need to be able to call my people at all hours of the day. They are my family too, Ford. And your boys are trying very hard to get me estranged from them.” He tried to keep it casual, even tried to joke about it, but the contempt of the police force was clear. The chief didn’t like it. “They work hard and are doing exactly what they are trained to do. If this was any other victim, I would praise them for their thorough and efficient work. It’s only because it’s us two that we have an issue with it, and that isn’t their fault. I thought you knew that my men are good at their jobs and are just as necessary for this town as the Syndicate is.” He reprimanded Bill, who just huffed and crossed his arms. He knew Ford was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. The gesture broke the tension though, because the chief made fun of the mobster for acting like a pouting child, and they bickered for a few minutes like a true married couple about who was worse in that regard.

There was still some actual work to do now that Bill was actually back at the headquarters. He reluctantly left Ford to what he had been doing before his husband came in, and headed to the meeting room, where he would first have a talk with Keyhole and Kryptos about the progress on the big master plan. Despite downplaying the whole operation to Ford earlier, the Dream Demon was doing a lot of careful planning. He called in Hector halfway through the meeting as well, to go over who would be deployed where. The museum pieces required muscle and at least one talented hacker. The surveillance cameras around the warehouse had to be disabled. At the question of what to do with the human security around there, they had a short discussion whether or not it was worth the trouble of subduing them instead of murder. In the end, it came down to the practicality of it during the aftermath. If the security was only put out of the way instead of dead, anyone who would be caught could only be brought up on theft charges and perhaps assault. If the scene would also become a murder investigation, it would likely attract too many skilled professionals, and the last thing they needed was the most talented inspector of the state get a whole team of brainiacs under him. So no, they would have to be a little more careful, which meant that a tranquilizer sniper would be added to the team to get the guards to go down without hurting them too much, and to make it easy to get out of the way. Then add a good lockpick and everything should go down without any problems.

Then onto the situation at the bank. That was technically two operations in one, as they needed to break open the transport, and an actual account and safety deposit box. So that would mean at least two hackers and given that the security system of the bank was top of the line, Bill asked Hector if he could give an old freelance friend a call, see if she was free for some extra money, with of course the all-important detail of the Omerta. If Giffany refused to follow the oath of silence, she would find herself on the wrong side of a gun before she even had the time to delete her online presence. But Giffany knew that well enough. She had helped the Syndicate with a few jobs before. As long as they paid her price, her lips were sealed better than any online system ever created. But that still left the issue of the transport. To give them enough time to empty that vehicle, they could best employ a good diversion and use that to get a man on the inside, who would be able to prepare the whole load to be transferred over to the Syndicate’s truck once the hijack would take place. In both of the jobs, it was still vital they’d avoid murdering too many people. The less kills they had on their name during big jobs like these, the better. In fact, working for the Syndicate was often deadlier than against it. Of course, this was only when you didn’t keep your mouth shut, but still.

The last part of the meeting was mostly trying to decide which of the capos would be placed where during the big day. And where the boss himself would be. While the bank job was obviously more spectacular, Bill announced that he would be with the museum job, for personal reasons he didn’t want to share with his capos right now. It was a bit of foresight he had and expecting to be at the museum left room for more different scenarios. Most had to do with the fact that they had to release Ford at some point, and at the museum, he had a better chance of sneaking off and slipping into his role as Bill Cipher, the scared husband of the Chief of Police who got taken by a murderous mob gang and got abused almost daily. But he didn’t want to admit that at the moment, so he just chalked it up to trusting Kryptos to lead the job at the bank without any problems, and that the police likely expected him to be there too, so it would be safer if he wasn’t. One of the most important rules of the nightmare Syndicate was that nobody could ever get the chance to arrest the boss. Even if he would manage to get out of trouble because of lawyers and whatnot, it would mean the end of his marriage, Ford’s career, and the credibility of almost everyone in town. And they couldn’t take that risk. Kryptos would be putting his life on the line during the bank job, as it was so high profile and so bold, even compared to their normal business.

After final instructions were given about the preparations, Bill went back to get Ford to shoot another video. This one would be a bit different from the others, as it was time to get an update out on the condition of the mob boss. Bill explained on the way to the studio that he was planning on making the injury on the Dream Demon seem far worse. The gangster would be recovering slower than him, to throw off Fiddleford more. “However, the inspector seems a bit antsy that he didn’t get to see the infamous gangster he is supposed to stop yet, so I am going to give him what he wants. Somewhat. He will get to see me, but I get to mock him relentlessly for coming to Gravity Falls and immediately failing to find you.” He sounded cheery enough. Ford got mad at him now. “If you want him to never let go of this for the rest of his career, go ahead. But you may want to go about it a little quieter if you want this to work. You can act like an arrogant asshole all you want, but the one thing that triggers him most of all is saying that he can’t do something. It’s the one sure way of getting him on your tail and forcing you into taking steps you don’t want to take. And I am telling you this now: I don’t have any leftover feelings for Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, but you are not, under any circumstances other than the final, last resorts, killing him. And it is your duty to do anything you can to avoid getting to the point where shooting him becomes inevitable. Did I make myself clear?” He stopped walking along and crossed his arms. Bill was perplexed, but his shoulders dropped, and he looked guilty for a change. “Crystal clear. I’ll keep myself in check.”

After that, there was no more delay and Ford went with Bill to the studio without further complaints. Although, when he entered and Teeth was already in full director mode, walking here and there, talking to the crew, and giving directions left and right, the chief halted his steps. Especially when Bill immediately got a little more spring in his own pace and walked right up to the director. “Avanti, we have work to do. Teeth, you scared the merda out of me that first day. I said make it convincing, not give me a heart attack!” Bill was in his element now. He and Teeth got along so well, and they complimented eachother’s sense of drama perfectly. Ford pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to them discuss the details of today’s video. “I don’t want new bruises on him today. Copy the ones from last video and fade them to yellow. The police have calmed down to the point there is no need to show them further punishment at the moment. I want some of the monsters here for the low-level goons I need in the video. We should have enough bandanas around to cover their faces, right?” Bill had a script in mind for this video, but he had to make sure Teeth had everything around. The ‘monsters’ were the lowest members of the Syndicate. They stood above the Eye-bats, who were not even officially part of the mob. Those were just accomplices. The monsters often did a lot of the dirty work and were at the highest risk of being caught, which happened regularly as well. They stood under the command of Hector, unless they had specialties, at which point they fell under the capo responsible for that part of the business. Teeth had a group of them, specially chosen by their ability to follow directions and lack of recognizable features that would make them stand out on video. Teeth often referred to them as his puppets, as he loved to order them around and arranging them how he saw fit.

Today, Bill selected the two largest men, and a smaller woman. “You have had a settimana to have our show cell ready, so I really hope you dusted off those old pieces.” He then joked to Teeth, who saluted, then turned to his set assistants. “Sciò! Move those screens out of here, show the Don what we did.” He quipped cheerily and the assistants did just that. Even Ford came closer when he saw that this studio thing truly went beyond the simple hostage videos, though he suspected that those were the most common and Teeth rarely got to enjoy himself this much with a prisoner. That idea only got strengthened by the giddiness he saw in Bill. The two were like children in a toy store. But the set was impressive. It looked like a basic room in an old warehouse or something. Steel-plated walls that always seemed moist with mould in a corner, a dirty-looking mattress on the floor and a bucket in another corner, filled halfway with an unidentified yellow liquid. It didn’t smell bad enough to be what it should be though. When Teeth saw Ford’s disgusted look, he just patted the chief on the shoulder. “Calmati amico, it’s diluted apple juice. It’s for show, remember, just like all of it. You’re safe, we’re having fun.” He then called over the makeup girl. “Do you have tape that matches his skin tone?” That was new, the last few times they hadn’t exactly bothered to protect his skin. They had just tied him to a chair and pointed a weapon at him. Apparently, Bill didn’t have as tight a grip on his men as he thought.

As for the Mob Boss, he was taken care of by the rest of the makeup crew. They switched his clean and proper shirt for one with the right sleeve cut off and very carefully wrapped protective film over the bandage before covering that with their own bandages, which were skilfully drenched in fake blood to exaggerate the injury greatly. His makeup was done to make him paler, enhance the bags under his eyes and sink in his cheeks. He looked like was on the brink of death when they were done with him. The little hairs in Ford’s neck stood upright when he looked at the result, but he didn’t have long to be creeped out. They put him in the chair next, and a picture of his ‘condition’ during the last video was taped to the mirror. The girls swarmed around him and carefully redid every bruise and wound, but now aged them into a stage where they looked like they were healing. Ford got very uncomfortable with them all circling him like that and was relieved when Bill loudly cleared his throat. “When you’re done fawning over him, tape up his wrists will you, I have to be home in time and my babysitters don’t like waiting.” He sounded annoyed. Only he got to act like that around his husband. Ford shot him a look and mouthed ‘thank you’. Which he took back when the two big guys Bill selected for the video put chains around his wrists and put him in the show cell, where he didn’t have much he could do except sit on the disgusting-looking mattress. Thankfully, he was already wearing his pyjamas again anyway. Hector probably had a hunch that morning.

Bill got busy with the camera angles he needed. Teeth wanted it to be a full frontal shot to show off his talents in set design, but the Boss wasn’t having it in the slightest. “Why the inferno would we have a camera pointed at his cell from the front, idiota? Every time someone would pass by it would mean a dead angle and if a prisoner would be sitting with their back toward us, it would be useless with all the blind spots! We’re doing this telecamera di sicurezza style, like a normal prison would.” He insisted, and the two gangsters bickered about for a bit, because Teeth was sure the direct angle would make for more dramatic effect, and it would be easier to get the boss on screen too. The Dream Demon didn’t want to hear it, and in the end, he was still the boss, so the camera was placed in the upper corner, leaving Ford vulnerable and feeling exposed. It also forced him to really stick to his role as prisoner unless he wanted to put everything in jeopardy. He fiddled with his manacles, but although it was all for show, he couldn’t take them off. They were real, thick metal, locked and cold against his skin. The tape protecting his wrists made for a decent barrier though. He just had to be careful not to move them too much and scrape against his skin.

The Chief was vaguely aware someone yelled ‘action’ in the background. He was lost in thought, which gave him a more than convincing empty stare. There was no doubt to him that the fuss they made about all of this was because Bill did want to punish him for the whole shooting. But when was that going too far? For how long was he going to indulge in these antics before it became too much for him to bear? He hardly looked up when the other extra, the girl, of the video unlocked his ‘cell’ and gave him a bowl of food and some water. He ate without tasting it, hardly thinking about the camera anymore, his head filled with thoughts about the discomfort of the situation. But what choice did he have but to at least play along? His husband’s life was relying on this whole charade. The girl came back with a towel, dabbed at the ‘wounds’ that looked worst and left again, all without saying a word. Ford didn’t talk either, and he didn’t know he was causing a panic at the police station, where the team working on his case were all terrified when they saw their boss so compliant with what in their eyes was one of his captors.

The police team had been watching from the moment ‘action’ was called, as they had received an anonymous email with a link. It was a one-way connection this time. A livestream of sorts. So far, they thought it was just an update on their boss’ condition, with further demands of where not to be and who not to bother. But then Fiddleford narrowed his eyes at the corner of the screen, where he could see the shadows move again. “It isn’t over.” He told the rest of the team, and moments later, two large men entered the cell, with a smaller and leaner figure between them. This third figure was wearing a fedora, their arm was in a sling, and they didn’t look too good. The lights were turned up inside the cell, and the face of the middle man was illuminated. Fiddleford saw the face of the Dream Demon for the first time. He saw the eyepatch, and the evil glimmer in the visible eye. He noted the wicked grin, but also how pale the man was. Clearly Ford had hit the gangster good, and his job had prevented him from getting the best healthcare. Luckily, Bill was recovering much faster. Fiddleford wrote that down, as he wasn’t sure the Syndicate wouldn’t shoot the husband again if they thought the first time wasn’t effective enough. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to let mister Cipher go out of their sight again, even with a police escort.

He then looked back at the screen, to not miss any of the interaction between the Dream Demon and the Chief of Police. Hopefully, Ford hadn’t lost all of his fire yet. He watched as the Gangster approached his prisoner and crouched down in front of him. With a cackle in his high voice, the gangster began to speak, and it sent shivers down Fiddleford’s spine. “Finally calmed down have you? I was starting to think you enjoyed getting beaten to a polpa every day.” A long finger of the good arm was reached out and set underneath Ford’s chin, lifting the head up. The Chief glared. “You think taunting me is proof of your guts? It took you a week to face me yourself after what I did, coward.” He huffed. Fiddleford had to bite his tongue not to smirk at that. At least there was still some fight left in Ford, no matter how compliant he appeared earlier. The Dream Demon wasn’t impressed by the clapback, he just ran a hand through Ford’s mess of hair and got up again. “It doesn’t happen often someone manages to actually hit me. I’m almost impressed, poliziotto Pines. But I hope this teaches you to finish the job next time.” He snickered.

Ford balled his fists, causing the manacles to rattle. He got up from the dirty mattress and got in the Dream Demon’s face. “You think you’re hilarious, don’t you? You think you have my men in a chokehold just because I am out of the running, but there is no way out for you. They will keep working on this, they will zone in on you and drive you into a corner. And then what? You can’t keep using me as a living shield forever, and the moment I’m dead, they’ll nail you before you can say ‘lawyer’. So why don’t you spare everyone the trouble and finish your job.” He practically hissed. The big men, probably low-level goons or something, took a step forward and cracked their knuckles. The Dream Demon stopped them with a nonchalant, almost lazy gesture. He let out an insane laugh. “Poliziotto Pines, this was never about murder. If I wanted you dead, I would have had you shot in your bed the night after you shot me. There’s nothing preventing me from telling my boys to put a bullet between your eyes, or someone close to you to shut you up.” He almost gently pushed Ford back down with his good arm, and it seemed as if the fight had left the Chief, as he flopped back down on the mattress immediately and looked up at the gangster with pain in his eyes. “Leave him alone.” He almost pleaded, and the Dream Demon crouched down again. “I will. He’s received his end of l'affare already. I hope he heals from it. There’s no reason to waste vite, you know.” The gangster almost purred now.

Fiddleford had trouble listening to it now. The Syndicate truly held the cards right now. Everyone was at their mercy, not because of the lives they could take at any moment, but because of what they could make happen. If they wanted, they could destroy any sort of credibility the police force had. “I have heard your boys have put your husband in their rete di sicurezza. If you ask me, that’s hardly any better than what you’re in, aside from your ammanettare of course. If you stay calm, will see if we can take those off soon.” He chuckled, tapping the steel clamps on Ford’s wrists. “He must be impazzendo, not knowing how you are. Let’s see if we can send him a picture of you in a nicer room soon. It depends on you, and your boys. I sure hope they’ll stop being difficult. The sooner we can conduct our necessary business, the sooner you can go home to your tesoro. As for the conseguenze for us after you’re home again, I’m not too worried. You’ll never be able to find us.” He laughed again and then abruptly turned and left the cell, the unmistakable sound of the lock clicking behind them. Ford jumped up again and grabbed the bars of his prison. He rumbled. “When I get out of here, I will make it my life’s mission to put you away so deep, you’ll never see daylight again.” At which the Dream Demon just let out a cackle. “I thought you were already doing that, Pines. I would be disappointed if you weren’t giving me all you got.”

The connection of the video died soon after, and back at the police station, an emergency meeting was called. Fiddleford brought everyone who needed to know up to speed. After that, he called officer Gleeful, to ask if Bill had received the link as well and had been watching his husband interact with the Mob Boss like that. But the policeman said that Bill wasn’t getting any sort of communication from the outside while he was working his case. He did admit to being stationed outside the door of the office, as per mister Cipher’s request concerning confidentiality of the case. Fiddleford understood and was secretly glad. He briefed Bud on the content of the footage he had just watched and instructed not to tell Bill any details except that it looked like Ford was doing better now. No new wounds and the old ones were healing. And then the inspector urged the officer to make sure that nobody would follow them when they would be going home. Bill might be strong enough to go back to work, but the same couldn’t be said for the Dream Demon it seemed, and if all of this was meant to be retaliation, it might be dangerous for their key witness to be out and about too soon. Bud sounded reluctant when he answered he would keep a close eye on the man. Fiddleford urged him to explain himself. “Mister Cipher is happy to be out of the house again. He says it helps him keep his mind off the stress of the situation. I know it is far above my pay grade, but I don’t think it is good for him to be stuck inside the house all the time.” Bud clarified. Fiddleford mumbled something that was likely a Southern idiom of sorts. “Then it’s even more important to keep him in the dark about the details. Keep him happy, don’t give him any reason to try to look for the Syndicate himself, because something tells me that if Bill Cipher gets mad, everyone loses.”

They were right of course, but Bill was actually very happy. He undid his husband’s manacles as soon as the cameras were off and planted a kiss on his face. “Sixer, where did you hide this genio for acting all these years? You could have been the divo of Teeth’s work for years with how you play this.” He exclaimed. His husband was a bit less amused but did return the kiss. “Necessity, that’s all. Your life depends on my acting skills, and your life is very important to me. But please, go remove your makeup. This ‘almost dead’ look is freaking me out and I don’t like it.” He pleaded. Bill waved one of the makeup girls over and she gave him a few wipes. While the Dream Demon cleaned his face off and returned to his mostly healthy self, Teeth skipped over to the two of them. “I really hope we get to build more sets for you, Pines. You’re the most fun to work with since we had that senator’s wife who secretly hated her husband.” He quipped.

Well, they probably would get to build more sets in the future, since it would be a while before Ford would return home. But for now, the two retreated back to the room where they were keeping the Chief of Police in for now, to have some private time before Bill inevitably had to return to the safehouse with Bud Gleeful. The news that Gleeful was a dirty cop wasn’t that surprising to Ford at all. The man was more of a salesman than a police officer from the beginning, and the Chief hardly believed his ears when he heard nobody raised any questions when Bill had received no complaints or strange looks when he requested this particular agent to stay with him when he worked. Bill just playfully chuckled. “You know so much better than that, don’t you Sixer. Without you, the whole force is practically useless.” He almost purred as they were sitting on the bed together. The wine glasses were full again, as it was late enough for it by now. Paired with a focaccia and the moment was just perfect. Ford couldn’t hide a smile at the compliments. “You know they’re not useless without me. They’re all capable men.” He sputtered half-heartedly, but a long finger covered his lips. “Shhhh, you’re their fearless leader, the only one who can oppose the Dream Demon. What can they really do now that you’re gone. How will they save you out of the dangerous clutches of the Nightmare Syndicate.” Bill continued. Ford wanted to protest some more, but it was no use. Words like that stroked his ego just right and made him feel very warm. Bill knew it. He knew just what to say to set the mood right. They had some time left, and the door was locked anyway. Nothing was stopping Ford from giving in to it, and after a week apart like that, there was very little self-control left in him anyway. No, in a sense, Bill was trying way too hard. As usual.

Chapter Text

This is what happens when you don’t think things through.

Safehouses were nice and all, but grocery shopping and cooking was being made increasingly difficult. It was fine when Bill was still convinced it was for only a few days and would just make his babysitters go buy pasta and some canned sauce, or at least easy things he could trust them with. But now, he was missing actual good food, and he doubted the cops who dealt with him knew the difference between a zucchini and an aubergine. And he absolutely needed fresh ingredients. One more canned carbonara sauce and he would lose his mind. Americans had ruined Italian cuisine to the point the Dream Demon felt even less remorse for the amount of deaths he had caused, either directly or indirectly. Their canned sauces were mostly sugar, ‘fresh herbs’ had not seen sunlight for weeks before being crushed to go into the mix, and the sterile tomatoes had about as much flavour as spring water. And Bill was fed up with it, and he could have sworn he could feel his body get worse. He was a spoiled brat when it came to dinner, and he would be the first to admit Ford was a better cook than him, but even he was capable of more than this. So after three days of arguing he managed to convince Fiddleford to let him go to the farmer’s market with an escort on Saturday to do some decent grocery shopping.

Bud Gleeful was free this weekend, which meant that Bill’s escort was Dan Corduroy himself, who was told to mostly resume business as normal with the few men who weren’t currently stationed around the safehouse. After the callous way he handled that first exchange between the Syndicate and the police, Fiddleford kept him far away from the case, and instead had him try to deal with the petty crimes around Gravity Falls. The Dream Demon was glad to have that giant oaf not be around him most of the time, or he would have been forced to take drastic measures, which would include giving Ford a haircut in a way he would rather avoid. Ideally, his husband would remain completely unharmed for the entire duration of this hostage situation, but that required a great deal of diplomacy and compliance from the police force. And Dan really wasn’t the man for that. So, all in all, it wasn’t a wonder Bill was not his upbeat self as they went to the market. Especially because he had been planning to talk to some of the vendors who were connected to the Syndicate. No true members, but some were under their protection in exchange for reduced prices for fresh ingredients. Not all deals they made were nefarious after all. Bill would have to work around his babysitter. Luckily, there were always other options to message people. Old fashioned methods, but effective nonetheless. And that did not include just speaking his native language, because he didn’t want to raise suspicions he was connected to the crimes in any way. The Dream Demon was slightly concerned with how smart the detective was, according to Ford.

He was greeted by the produce vendor who always had his stall close to the beginning of the market area. “Marco, good to see your health is still as buona as ever!” Bill greeted the man with his dazzling smile. The man looked up. “Ah, Bill. It’s been so long I thought you had broken up with us.” The man looked up and greeted the blond man with gusto. The mobster’s left hand shot up to stop the inevitable shoulder clap. “Facile lí my friend. I would never break up with the best tomatoes of Oregon. They’d have to kill me first.” He tried to make a joke out of it but lifted the short sleeve of his shirt a bit further. A gasp escaped Marco. “But no! It is true then. I thought the news was overreacting again, but those bastardi did attack you! And Ford, il tuo tesoro, is he really-?” He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to, Bill’s pained expression said enough. “Oh Dio, you must be terrified.” The produce vendor accepted the fruits and vegetables that the other gave him and started weighing them. “I am, the police officers have been doing what they can to keep me safe, and I trust them to bring him home safely, but the waiting is making me crazy. Oh, this is deputy chief Dan Corduroy. Dan, do you want anything, I’m here now anyway.” He looked at the ginger man beside him who seemed to sport a permanent scowl. The mobster had to play the part, and besides, Marco was truly harmless. The Italian community of Gravity Falls was simply close-knit, and he wasn’t surprised they all had heard of the story by now. All it took was one of them to watch the news, and within a day the whole community would know what happened.

Dan took a look at Marco, then at the products in the stall and picked up a bunch of bananas. Bill, out of sight from the police officer rolled his eyes. Out of all things, Dan decided to be so damn American, it was almost comical. Marco didn’t even bother. He just muttered something under his breath in Italian; “Testa di cazzo.” It made Bill’s lips curl into a grin, which he quickly hid when Dan turned towards him. The produce was paid for and the mob boss simply gave the deputy chief a banana to not have to make more small talk. Besides, he needed the man slightly distracted as they went on to the woman who had bags upon bags of different kinds of pasta shapes on her table. It was some sort of family friend of Hector, and she was one of the people who were protected by the Syndicate. She knew Bill had something to do with it, but as far as she knew, he was just some messenger boy. To be fair, most of the eye-bats and monsters thought something like that. Some assumed he was the errand boy for the boss himself, as they had seen him around the headquarters at one point or the other, and talking with the Capo they reported to. But that was normal. Nobody knew who exactly the boss was, so most who weren’t sure just resorted to treating everyone who could be the boss like they were. And those who they thought reported directly to him were treated with the utmost care, to avoid getting on anyone’s bad side. Those that did know, kept their mouth shut.

When the pasta girl noticed Bill, she just smiled. He smiled back, having regained most of his charm and smooth manners now that the pain had adequately dwindled, and he was on a decent diet of painkillers on doctor’s orders. “Dolcezza, you look bright as the sun again today. Ahimè, I desperately need some pasta from a real Casalinga, and you are the best in town.” He started and she giggled. Poor thing was truly far too young to be wrapped up in this. Bill was trying to be nice to her, but he still needed to get things done. He just had her make several small bags of different types of pasta so he could make food. He gave Dan another banana before going to pay. While the deputy chief peeled his fruit and muttered something about potassium, the Dream Demon handed over the cash to pay the girl. Folded up with the bills was a note telling her to ‘wrap early tonight and go inform the pizza place downtown in the Italian Neighbourhood that the cameras are to have a bug this Tuesday.’ She would know what it meant, and Bill would still be as innocent as possible. As far as the girl new, he hadn’t written the note and had no idea what it said either. She quickly stuffed the note into her pocket without even opening it. She wouldn’t read it before Dan would have moved along. When the two did, she struck a cross. “Mio Dio, protect him and his husband.” She whispered to herself. To them, the people who weren’t in the know, Bill was in a terrifying position. His husband had shot the boss, and he was a messenger in their web. One step out of line and Ford would directly be within reach to be hurt. She wanted to give him a hug, but could not. There was nothing she could do, especially not with the police also breathing in his neck, making his job even more impossible.

Several more notes were delivered to a couple of vendors. The distraction with the bananas worked perfectly, but Bill was getting annoyed again at the fact that this giant ape was babysitting him. And now the bananas were all gone and he had one more place to go. And it was the riskiest. He’d kept that one for last in the hope that Dan’s attention had dwindled, but the man seemed to have an endless supply of it. Really, if he had exchanged a little muscle and stamina for some brain, the whole situation would be so much less frustrating. Well, Bill had little choice but to take the risk of getting caught and having to explain this to the deputy chief. With a casual smile, the mob boss approached the baker. Fresh Italian buns were the last things on his list, and the baker was supposed to have a package for him too. Legal documents for the people involved in the museum and bank operation. Hector had chosen them all with the utmost care. They were skilled people, specially chosen for their tasks. But their worth was so that if anything went wrong at all, and even if it didn’t, they had to be able to leave the state and perhaps the country on a moment’s notice. And for that, they needed completely fake identities. And the baker had a very talented husband who was able to create new people from scratch that had never failed to fool any legal office. The mob boss paid them well, both for the bread and the side business, because they were both incredibly valuable to him. Vital for keeping his people safe and his stomach happy.

Today the daughter of the couple was manning the store. Bill gave her a warm smile. “Bella Susan, I see you are working again, don’t you have school?” He asked and she just giggled. “It’s summer break, signore Cipher, and it is the weekend.” She then answered. “How may I help you?” Bill looked at the assortment of baked goods. “Just four Italian buns. And a focaccia.” He decided and watched her bag the requested bread. Hopefully she remembered there also was an order waiting for him, so he wouldn’t have to remind her and draw attention to it. Luckily she just handed him a flat white package without saying anything. Dan missed it, as he was scowling at something or someone else. Bill took the opportunity to put the package away in his bag and simply gave Susan a nod, then shortly set his finger to his lips to silence any possible questions. She smiled at him and then told him the total. Bill paid up, making sure to include the remainder of the money owed for the passports too. When they were out of earshot from the baker, Dan made a comment about it. “Didn’t know bread was that expensive.” He mentioned, and the mob boss had to force himself not to stumble or show any emotion on his face. He had to come up with a story real quick. “It’s not. But her parents are trying to open a full store closer to the town hall, and I want to do my part.” He mentioned, hoping it was the end of it. “Oh, so you overpay for your bread so you can walk further for your bread?” The deputy chief sounded a bit absent as he made that comment, and Bill looked up. Something was bothering Dan, and something told me he wouldn’t like it when he figured out what it was.

Nothing was said about any of it while they drove back to the safehouse though. The Dream Demon wouldn’t be the first one to bring it up. He just sat in the back seat and waited for the moment he would be alone and have some privacy. There were a couple police officers sleeping in the other rooms of course. A high-profile case often meant a lot of security, and it meant that Fiddleford didn’t have as many people on the investigation part of the situation as he might have wanted. But the security was dwindling, meaning that Bill had a few rooms where he could be unsupervised, and a work phone had slipped through their safety net last Monday. And the officers worked on rotation. This meant the Dream Demon was in contact with his people again, saving him a lot of time. He could get messages out much faster and could give detailed instructions to Kryptos when it came to keeping the place running. Two days away from his husband again, but Bill knew he had to keep himself in check and not take it out on his people. After all, it was his own fault that everything was messy and he had to make do. When they arrived at the house, he first put the groceries away. It was only natural that he made Dan do the heavy carrying of the bags, because he himself still had to spare his poor injured shoulder. This small act of payback for having to deal with the roughhousing simpleton made him smile. When the groceries were put away, he retreated to his bedroom and checked over the documents. The Dream Demon found that there was one set too many; his good old friend had included one for him, how thoughtful and unnecessary.

He put them safely away in one of the hidden pockets of his work bag. It was time to make a good lunch. Perhaps the pipe rigate al ragù dish his mamma used to make when he was little. It’d be a nice comfort food while he wasn’t where he wanted to be. It was strange. On any other week, if Ford didn’t have to work during the weekend, the two of them would go out often. Sometimes they would just meet up with friends, often famiglia members who knew the situation, other times they would actually go out. In the early stages of the relationship, they had done double dates with Fiddleford and his now wife, since he and Ford managed to stay friends, but that had stopped when the inspector was reassigned to Tennessee. Perhaps when all of this was over, Bill could invite the man on another outing again, to express gratitude for the tireless work to get Ford out of the hands of the Syndicate. Because while the Dream Demon didn’t like the fact that Fiddleford was the unintended cause of this whole mess by coming back to Gravity Falls, he did like the man for his wit and his intelligence. They actually got along really well outside of work, and there was only limited time before the involvement of the smartest detective in the States would become too problematic. Bill would like to make the most of it. Ford had told him he wasn’t allowed to kill Fiddleford unless there was absolutely no other way. And yet, they both knew that someday he would know, figure it out. The Dream Demon had to make sure it would be under the right circumstances. And that would be hard.

While overthinking this on his way to the kitchen, the gangster overheard Dan talking to the officer stationed in the house today. Only one, it was a luxury. Bill hoped this meant they were reducing the amount of security on him. But that wasn’t what the conversation was about. The Dream Demon pressed himself against the wall near the doorpost like a cliché teenager trying to listen in on his parents. It worked though. Dan was talking to the officer about the market. While he hadn’t seen anything of Bill’s shifty behaviour, he did see something apparently, because he was listing several of the vendors. The gangster strained his ears to hear it better. “The vegetable man was shifty. Very dramatic, way too personal. Almost like he knew more, taunting mister Cipher to do something to him. They’re all Italian there too. Very much so. Most of them didn’t understand basic grammar. I tell you, that those criminals control market. They’re watching his every move and waiting for him to break down and do something rash so they can punish our boss for it. I don’t want him going there anymore. He can deal with canned sauce a while longer; his safety is more important.” Dan sounded grim and serious. Bill clenched his fists, debating on confronting the deputy chief. But how though? His husband’s words rang in his ears. The police didn’t know that Bill wasn’t in danger, and neither was Ford.

Quietly seething to himself, Bill retreated to the kitchen and began the preparations for the ragù. Thankfully his hands could do the work mindlessly while he debated what to do about a racist officer. Yes, the man had a point about the fact there could be dangers lurking everywhere, even at the market. No, that didn’t give Dan the right to talk about people like this. Especially not Marco, who was completely innocent and had the finest vegetables of the state. And this wasn’t even the first time this happened either. Bud Gleeful had not been his first choice for the cop who would escort him at work. At first they had decided there would be another one, who would also act like a roommate in the safehouse. But because Dan had decided that said officer looked suspicious, they were now stuck with Bud Gleeful and half a dozen babysitters. Yes, Fiddleford kept the deputy chief away from the abduction case, but instead the big ape was on the gangster’s direct tail. A distraction could work, maybe. But it would be a lot of work, and it had to be constant. At this point it would almost be better to put Ford back in the field. But then there would have to be another way to gain leverage against the police corps. He could also do away with the deputy chief if he wanted to, but that was a bit brutal and would possibly set the inspector on the path to the true situation way too early. Not ideal either. While putting the pasta in the pan to boil it, Bill let his flexible brain come up with a good solution to put Dan in his place for good.

The first step of that plan was to inquire a thing or two about the police officer. He whipped out his work phone and texted Paci-Fire, who was in charge of all things to do with the police that wasn’t direct confrontation. He wanted to get as much information about Dan Corduroy as possible, see how much problems and perhaps stereotypes they were dealing with. Paco -his real name- got back to him while Bill was serving himself his lunch. Interesting, Dan liked to frequent a bar in his free time. Skull Fracture was the name of it. He knew the pub well; it was a place for rough crowd. In other places it might be referred to as a Redneck meeting place. No surprise really, that Dan liked it there. Most people who frequented that place weren’t the most tolerant towards non-traditional males. The Syndicate had nothing to do with the place, and coincidentally, the place had the highest non-mafia related crimes in town. Including the occasional murder. Bikers were like that. Rough around the edges, more muscle than common sense and enough tattoos to fill a library. In the early days, Bill had attempted to recruit some members of biker gangs for his own people, but it never really stuck. They were simply too unpredictable and didn’t listen to commands at all. So that’s why Dan interpreted friendly interactions and genuine concern from strangers as suspicious. And that was why he acted so incredibly American in a town where a relatively large percentage of the residents was Italian or otherwise mixed. And why he understood nothing about anything even remotely effeminate.

While this information was interesting, and the rest of Dan’s private life seamlessly connected to this behaviour,  it didn’t paint a pretty picture. With him in charge, everything even remotely Italian was going to be marked as suspicious behaviour. While the Eye-bats were usually not of Italian descent and slipped through the cracks easily, it meant that any monster or higher was risking an investigation whenever they interacted with him. It dawned on the gangster that because he usually downplayed his own manners and accent whenever he was in public, Dan was forgetting he was Italian too. Today at the market it probably didn’t even register with Dan, since the whole setting was Italian and he had been focussed on other things. That painted a whole new picture. If Bill tried to imagine what this whole mess was like if he wasn’t Italian himself, and just a victim like Ford had been trying to explain, Dan’s reaction did make more sense. Bill would be a man in law enforcement who preferred to go to the market for his groceries. Here he would come in contact with many different Italians, in a town where a Syndicate ran wild and free because it was almost impossible to get a grip on them and put an end to the organized crime. Bill, as a mediator for business disputes, would be a possible person of interest and probably watched from a distance. At least that is what the gangster imagined the police thought of him. And then the abduction was added into the mix, and while the cause was definitely something Ford did, there still was a huge target on himself. Fiddleford had made that clear during the interview too, by asking what he was working on at the moment. Fair enough in that way.

While eating his lunch, Bill thought it over. He wrote down a few keywords to make sure his train of thoughts would keep making sense. It was a bit annoying that the root of the problem was that Dan had somehow isolated himself from proper culture. Such an upbringing was hard to break down, and he simply didn’t have the time. But he had to figure out something, to ensure the safety of his people, but more importantly, to not subject the many innocent Italian Americans who lived in Gravity Falls. On top of that, a racist police officer in charge of many other police officers was likely to turn into a racist police department, and Bill wouldn’t have that. So what were the options to stop all of that from happening. Bring Ford back in the field, yes. He had already thought of that before, but it wasn’t doable. Not with what they wanted to get away with peacefully. Disputes between Syndicates were always tricky, and the Police Department in charge of the location where said dispute took place always put a lot of work into catching those responsible for it, because they were a danger to the public. And even though Ford was married to the Boss of the Syndicate in Gravity Falls, he still wouldn’t let them get away with something like this voluntarily. So he needed another option. Perhaps he could expose Dan to as much Italian culture as possible? And with a few calls, he could probably get the Irish folks from the other bar join in too. There was hardly any Asian culture around Gravity Falls, but perhaps the next town over? He knew there was a small ‘Chinatown’ in the next county. They had some experience with mob violence there too, he’d have to speak with a few rivals he didn’t hate as much to see if they were willing to help. Educating the police was usually not Bill’s forte, but this was a desperate time and it called for desperate measures. He would have a strong talk with Ford later about how the Chief could possibly believe that an ignorant gorilla could ever be trusted to lead a whole department. Bill wouldn’t even leave him to lead a scavenger hunt.

He was getting off topic. Lunch was gone, and the jotted down notes had to be disposed of before Dan would find something else to call suspicious. If only the weekend was over and Bud Gleeful would be back on duty. But no, two whole days of this. Luckily Fiddleford also had to stop by for updates on Ford and a general wellness check. The inspector preferred to do those himself, mostly because it also made him feel better about the whole situation. Bill was making coffee when the man walked in and greeted him. “Want one too?” He asked casually. Fiddleford agreed immediately, and soon the two were seated in the living room area. The inspector sent out the rest of the officers, to let them talk in peace. Bill wasn’t expecting that, usually he’d keep another officer around, as a witness or something. Double check he didn’t say anything dangerous maybe? But apparently Fiddleford wasn’t being official at the moment. Once all the officers were out of earshot, he took a sip of coffee. “I never told anyone that your husband and I used to be together. I’m not officially ‘out’ to everyone. In fact, back home I was very deeply in the closet. Do you know how long it took me to admit to my wife that I was with a man once? Tennessee isn’t the best state for that, so I was glad I was transferred here.” He began. Bill cocked his head, surprised by the direction this conversation was going.

“Why are you telling me this, Fiddleford? If it’s because possible rivalry, you think too highly of yourself. I don’t see you as a threat to my relationship.” Ouch, that was harsh, and indeed the man’s expression shifted, showing some annoyance. The leg started bouncing again too, stupid tic. “I wanted to talk about Ford with someone who knows him like I do, that’s all. I am married now too, Bill. I don’t want Ford back. I just need to make sure that this past connection between him and me stays under wraps for a while longer, until the corps trusts my abilities. And I want to give you my word that I will stay professional about it too.” The inspector tried to calm himself. The gangster nodded vaguely. “Fair enough. I guess I shouldn’t have made assumptions. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to be working with my husband’s ex-boyfriend while literal murderers kidnapped my husband.” He answered, sneaking concern into his voice. “I’m doing everything I can to make sure he comes home in one piece, and not letting those bastards get away with it.” A short hesitation. Fiddleford wanted to keep his Southern accent under wraps, just like Bill was downplaying the Italian. “Honestly, and forgive me for this, but I don’t care if they get away with it. I got sent a photo to my work the other day. I didn’t tell Bud about it, because I didn’t want you to pull me out of work again. It distracts me, forces me to focus on something other than this nightmare.” He pulled the photo out of his inner pocket. It showed Ford in his cell. The lack of injuries proved that it was very recent. “There was a note attached to it too. It said: ‘Your Tesoro is behaving well. If your law friends stay calm, he’ll be back before you know it.’ I don’t know if I believe them. I’m not naïve, I know what they are, but at the same time, if they wanted him dead, wouldn’t he be dead already?”

Fiddleford took the photo and studied it for a while. The manacles on Ford’s wrists were gone. He spotted a bandage in its place. “They are taking care of him, why do they that?” Bill asked, sounding genuinely confused. “He is their enemy, and he literally shot their boss. I don’t understand why he is still alive, unless this is all fake and he’s been dead right after that one call we had.” His voice shot up an octave, but this time Fiddleford was calm. “No, he’s alive, and the injuries in the photo match the ones we saw on screen just yesterday. Strange as it sounds, the Syndicate so far seems completely honest and upfront with their intentions. I have this theory that even if he wouldn’t have shot the ‘Dream Demon’ as I heard they call him, he still would have ended up abducted by them. Perhaps the timing would be different however, they aren’t prepared well for the length of this stunt they are pulling.” The last few words had some Southern charm to them, and Bill smiled for a second before sighing. “It’s uplifting to hear that no matter what, I would have been left in this position, with my husband in mortal danger and me uncertain if they are true to their word and will return him to me alive and well.” He said drily, with a hint of desperation for show. Fiddleford didn’t know if he should laugh or not. It did sound grim when put that way. “And worse, you could have been sitting here without a bullet hole in your shoulder.” He tried to joke about it. Bill didn’t find it very funny.

“You know, Ford told me in the evening before this happened, that he wasn’t aiming for the Dream Demon directly. He wants the man behind bars, not dead. He was aiming for the car windows, to make sure the criminals couldn’t get away.” He said passively, taking a sip of his coffee. Fiddleford shook his head. “I don’t believe that. I’ve seen Ford shoot before. He never misses. It has been that way since we were at the Academy. That’s why he was allowed to take his sergeant exam early. I think he just didn’t expect the rest of them to risk their lives to get the boss away, or his men to stop them when they did.” He stated, utterly convinced that the situation was not Ford’s fault at all. It was the lack of respect from the Syndicate and their lack of self-preservation that had caused this. But Bill looked down. “He told me that he was distracted that day, and that’s why he missed. He said that he was trying to think of how to address something to me after he would come home. How he would tell me that you were coming to settle in Gravity Falls.” He said softly, and the silence after that revelation was deafening. Fiddleford stared at his ex-boyfriend’s husband with horror in his eyes. “Are you trying to tell me that you getting shot and Ford having to be punished by a group or organised criminals is my fault?” He asked, hoping beyond hope that he misunderstood what had been said. Sadly, the other quietly nodded.

Bill was starting to remember why he didn’t like most people. The Syndicate, aside from the illegal things they did, was one of the healthiest families he’d ever encountered. Aside from the few rotten apples, who were swiftly and permanently dealt with whenever they showed up, everyone worked together, helped eachother and most of the time communicated about everything they had to talk about. There were rules of course, but there was room for conversation and exceptions. The only iron-clad rule was that nobody could ever reveal anything about the Syndicate that would jeopardize it to an outsider, unless given explicit permission from the boss. Some might think it was also impossible to leave the life of crime and secrets behind, but that wasn’t true. However, if someone left, they were also supposed to move away, outside of their territory to avoid awkward and compromising situations later on. Bill had set it up that way because he wanted his people to enjoy working for him. Satisfied members were loyal members after all. From what he was seeing from the police corps now that he was spending more time among them, was that they surely didn’t share the same sentiments when it came to their co-workers, or the people they supposedly protected. Had Fiddleford seriously not considered that the news his ex-boyfriend would be working closely together with him indefinitely, starting that same week, would  throw Ford off his game? And did Dan really think that anyone who matched the accent was a criminal? Did the whole corps think that it was appropriate to treat a notoriously private person like a clipped parakeet who had to be in a nice cage until it was safe to let him walk about again. This was starting to devolve into a case of re-educating the police force instead of a simple abduction plot.

Fiddleford left soon after that, having to collect his thoughts and emotions about what he’d been told. Bill could probably have been nicer about it, but he didn’t want to be reminded this was a mess. By now it had been two weeks since the incident happened. Two weeks since Ford had been abducted, and two more weeks to go before they could pull of their plan. Bill’s injured shoulder was getting much better. Luckily, it had indeed just been a flesh wound. No nerves had been hit, and he could partially use his arm again. By the time this plan would come into play, he would be fully healed and able to participate without hindrance. He might want to look into physical therapy for the stiffness he was starting to feel though. Either way, it was indeed starting to drag on. Bill went back to his brooding state of mind, trying to find a way around the solution that was nagging at the back of his head. There was a way to get the police in line, possibly teach them a few things about how to deal with civilians and eachother, and still carry out the plans and get away with them. But it would involve a lot of danger, a lot of giving up control over the situation with the police, and risk for his people. Some of them might get arrested, lost a lot of reputation they built up, or be forced to flee the county. It would bring so many risks, but at this point, Bill was starting to fear the corps would not cooperate like he wanted them to. Why was Ford the only competent police officer in town? Right, because he actually knew the Syndicate and understood the inner workings.

There was no choice really. These circumstances were completely unexpected, and if Ford had to be in the lead to make the plan work, so be it. But the leverage over the police force had to stay, which meant that someone had to take his place. Bill locked himself in his room again and pulled out his phone. He had to make this call before he would change his mind, or even worse, get scared. He called Hector, half hoping that his cousin wouldn’t pick up. No such luck, he did. “Boss? Why are you calling today? I thought Kryptos had the floor for the weekend, and everything was set.” He sounded confused, and perhaps a little worried. “A complication came up. Hector, I need you to call X. Pronto.” Bill answered, his voice flat to avoid revealing the reluctance. Hector audibly sucked in air before he answered. “Boss, are you sure? I mean, that goes very far, and what if Ford doesn’t play along. He was mad enough at this plan, let alone what happens when you’re among the people who don’t know you and the Dream Demon are one and the same. Ford isn’t treated nicely when you’re not around. They not hurting him, but they’re not treating him too well either. You’re risking a lot, especially with your shoulder like that.” The capo had no clue what had gotten into the boss to take this step now. Hector thought everything was going alright for now, but evidently not. Bill proceeded to explain the racism he noticed from the police, and the lack of understanding and compassion between officers. “But doesn’t the latter make our job easier when we have to bribe them?” Hector objected at that, but the Dream Demon waved that off. “No. It means that they don’t care about eachother enough to show some empathy. It means they’re nothing more than loose sand. And the least I can do for Ford is make sure that his pack of wolves is at least a real pack.”

Hector went quiet for a second. “What do you expect from X?” He then asked. Bill’s smirk grew. “Very simple. Xanthar is the only one I trust to legitimately circumvent all security of the police safety net, which he will do. I want to be at the headquarters tomorrow, or Monday morning at the latest. He can bring a couple of people for lookout or the getaway car, but he will be handling the actual case.” Bill had his reasons. Xanthar was silent, subtle, and mysterious. Never caught on camera, never left a fingerprint or hair. The latter because he was bald, which was beside the point. They hardly ever called on the man, due to his talent of creeping out the lower members. He was only there for the very special cases. He knew the identity of the Dream Demon, but still treated them as separate entities completely, something the other capos were scared to do. And right now Bill needed it to be real, but he still had to be safe, especially with his injury. Hector was silent again, but eventually he spoke up again. “I messaged him. He says he knows where you are, and he can have it done tonight once he finds a good car. He asks if lethal force is allowed on the police.” Bill thought that over. “No.” He decided, knowing that the fact someone would be breaking through the security would be plenty of punishment for the cops. They didn’t need to also lose people over it. “Then you will have to deal with drugs.” The answer made the gangster grit his teeth. “Fine, but not the addictive kind. I can’t have that happen again. And do not tell Ford.”

The call broke off soon after. Bill took a deep breath and went downstairs again, realizing he had been having that talk with Hector while they both were in their ‘normal’ voices, without the Italian mixed in. He wondered what his capo had been doing before he called. He shrugged it off and did his best to get through the final hours before he could get away from the police. He truly was feeling like he had a mental overload of this, and desperately needed to get somewhere he could be himself again. And the only place that qualified right now was the Syndicate. In two weeks, after everything would be over, he would talk to Ford about going away for a while. Away from everything, to have some time together. This fantasy kept him going, and even inspired him to make a large portion of Spezzatino di manzo, so that the two police officers who were still around could join in and wouldn’t have to rely on takeout again. They seemed to enjoy it well enough. He served a red wine with it, and both cops accepted a single glass, arguing that they had to stay alert and couldn’t indulge while on duty. Bill didn’t have such obligations and drank three. It was a good vino, and he would hate to waste it, especially when he had a good stew to go with it. The dishwasher was loaded, and the gangster settled in the living room to watch some tv before he would retreat for the night. Or so he planned. While he did start watching a comedy movie, he felt himself get sluggish and tired. Strange, it wasn’t as if he had done something very active today.

The feeling developed further, and eventually the Dream Demon shut off the tv and announced he was going to bed early. The two officers looked up, not fully with it either, and just nodded before going back to their card game. Bill made it to his bedroom before almost literally collapsing on his bed. Clothes still on, teeth not brushed, not showered, even his shoes were still on. Yet he was out cold, sleeping deeper than a hibernating polar bear. He didn’t wake up when he heard two muffled ‘thuds’ downstairs either. Or when the sound of the front door opening and someone entering the house. When a flashlight illuminated his face a minute later, he stirred somewhat, but still did not wake up. A hooded figure crouched down and set two gloved fingers on Bill’s neck, checking the pulse. A backpack was zipped open, and the flashlight positioned so that the figure could see what they were doing. The Dream Demon’s hands were pulled towards eachother and bound together using something that looked suspiciously like a torn up t-shirt. Legs underwent the same treatment before a large duffle bag was unfolded and Bill was stuffed in it without any hesitation, but with some care for his person. After all, the hands were bound in front, instead of behind the back. Easier on the shoulder. The whole thing might have taken five minutes tops. The figure, rather large by the way, took the bag and swung it over their shoulder before making their way downstairs and out the front door, which they casually locked behind them. A dark blue car, one of the most common types ever, was waiting outside. The duffle bag containing Bill was dropped on the back seat. The figure got on the passenger seat in the front and made a gesture for the driver to start the car and leave, which was obeyed immediately. Ten minutes or so later, another figure casually removed themselves from the shadows, spit their gum in the trash and got on a motorcycle, riding away in the opposite direction from the car. Inside the house, nothing moved at all.

A few hours later, far past midnight, the same car drove into the garage of the headquarters. The figure got out of the car and grabbed the duffle bag. The car then left immediately, leaving no trace it had ever been there at all. The figure pulled back his hood, and his face was a mess of scars. Xanthar didn’t have it easy in life. He had once been a member of the Brigate Rosse in Italy but had left for the United States before the group was dismantled, and subsequently never found. In the States, he had gotten into contact with Bill’s father, who accepted him into the Syndicate after Xanthar saved his life in a rivalry dispute. The man was still a respected member, and Bill considered him on the same level as the capos, but because Xanthar was older and his body had suffered from his long life of crime and violence, he had partially retired and only came out for the special cases such as these. The man took a small towel from some pocket or another in his long jacket and wiped the sweat from his bald head. Then he once again took the duffle bag and delivered it safely to the room where they normally welcomed prisoners. He even removed Bill from the bag and set him on the not very comfortable wooden chair. Bill was still asleep. The wine was drugged, obviously. The captor made sure the new prisoner wouldn’t slide off the chair, then picked up the bag and left. His job was done, and he wouldn’t be involved with anything else. He met Hector in the hallway, and the capo handed him an envelope with the hefty sum paid for the swift reaction. A few words in Italian were exchanged before Xanthar went on his way home, while Hector went into the room where the other had left Bill. The gangster wouldn’t be waking up for a while longer, but Hector went there anyway, not sure what the boss wanted them to do now.

He ended up falling asleep in another chair and woke up at a loud clearing of a throat. He opened his eyes and rubbed his forehead while looking in the direction the sound came from. Bill had woken up. “If you’re about ready, Bella Addormentata, I can do without these.” The boss raised his still bound hands. His tone was highly sarcastic, and Hector rushed over to untie the Dream Demon. “Grazie. Now I’m going to need Amor and mia uniforme. Preferably in that order.” Bill mentioned, rubbing the marks unintentionally left by the ropes. Hector did as he was told, and about ten minutes later, the boss was given the sweet release of a lotion that took care of his sore skin, while Amor made him a cocktail of painkillers for his shoulder, which really had gone stiff. “You shouldn’t be at work, sir. You should be resting and getting physical therapy. Maybe relax in a jacuzzi, give your muscles rest. Why are you doing this to yourself?” Amor gave Bill the drink, and it was gulped down immediately. “De Sapore of this is absolutely disgusting.” He commented, but the medic didn’t let up. “You’re risking loss of movement because you don’t take proper rest. If you don’t do something about this, Kryptos might be running this place for a year, at least.” He continued, and Bill relented. “Fine, I will take it easy, but I am not taking a vacation, not with the poliziotti behaving like buffoons. I have been waiting for years for the opportunity to settle that score. And I am not going to let my rivals invade my dominio like that.”

Hector returned with a frittata and a cappuccino, giving Bill a much needed, quality Italian breakfast. “Buy Carmen a new bracelet for me. Your Casalinga deserves all the beautiful things in the world for taking care of me.” Bill was always happy when it came to good food. Hector laughed behind his moustache. “You and your husband are very alike, boss. He says the same.” He clarified, politely looking away while the Dream Demon changed into his regular work attire. When done with breakfast, he walked with his capo to a meeting room. “I am not scherzando, Hector. Carmen should get something for cucinando all the delicious meals. Find out what she wants, I shall have it delivered to her before the week is up.” He adjusted his eyepatch. “Now for serious questioni. Ford still doesn’t know I’m here? Eccellente. We’re shooting a video, and I want his reaction to be genuine. He’ll be furioso, but I will explain it to him when we’re done. I had no choice, and maybe this is better. Less acting from him, and I hope it will give us a better opponent too. I want the inspector on the track of discovery, but only on my tempo.” He turned harsh. Hector swallowed nervously. “McGucket has to learn about you?” He asked. Bill looked at him. “No questions, Hector. Get Kryptos here, I need to prepare him. Keep this information to yourself. I will tell you everything in due time, prometto.” He spoke. Hector wanted to protest, but he refrained from it for now. The plan of the abduction was going wrong in so many ways, and Bill was making split-second decisions based on instinct and his experience. Now was the time to fully trust him, and all the capos had seen what the Dream Demon was capable of. He could pull this off, sure. But at the cost of how much sanity?

Chapter Text

Some long overdue conversations.

The morning was rougher than what Ford was used to. For the duration of his captivity, Hector would wake him up with breakfast and a quick rundown of the planning that day. Today however, he was dragged out of bed by a couple of Kryptos’ goons, who so far had been forbidden to interact with him. They roughly shoved him to the studio, where the regular cell décor had been set up already. The Chief flopped down on the dirty mattress, rubbing his eyes out. Teeth didn’t come out to give him stage directions, wasn’t peacocking around as usual. The whole ‘set’ was quiet and dark. It unnerved him greatly; something had changed since the last video. Ford was about to ask what was going on when he heard whispers in Italian and saw the red light of a camera being turned on. Upon hearing footsteps behind him, he turned, right as the dim light of the ‘hallway’ turned on.

Kryptos was standing on the other side of the bars with a grim look on his face, flanked by a couple of the typical camera goons. “On your feet poliziotto, lazy pig.” The consigliere snapped. Ford immediately rose to his feet and balled his fists, matching Kryptos’ energy. “Don’t talk to me like that, scumbag. I won’t be in here forever, and once I’m out, you’ll wish you never met me.” He growled, causing the gangster to let out a cold laugh. “If I had my way, you’d be defunto, buried and forgotten. But the Don is convinced you’re more utile alive, for now.” He leaned over, grinned with crooked teeth. “Anyway, you should chiudi il becco, shut up. You’re going home.”

Ford opened his mouth to give a snarky reply, but when he heard that, he stopped and just stood there with his mouth half open. The gangster punched the bars with one fist, causing the chief to flinch shortly before composing himself and closing his mouth. “What do you mean I’m going home?” He asked, completely lost. He thought he knew what his husband was planning, and this wasn’t part of it. Kryptos’ expression wasn’t helping. “We have given you instructions. We have given poliziesco McGucket instructions. You know what we want. And now you’re going to make sure it happens, capisce?” The consigliere was clearly trying to stop himself from punching something other than the bars.

“What makes you think I’ll do anything for you once I’m out of here?” Ford crossed his arms as Kryptos grinned. “Sono contento che tu abbia chiesto, I’m glad you asked.” He snapped his fingers, and two more goons emerged from the shadows, carrying/dragging a half-conscious Bill between them. “I think you call this an insurance policy, no? Do as we say, and he stays in one piece.” Kryptos might as well have been talking to a wall. As soon as his husband came into sight, Ford only had eye for him. “Bill, BILL? What are you doing here?” He nearly threw himself into the bars, trying to get to his husband.

Bill groaned and looked up. “F-ford? Is that really you? How are you here?” He asked, seemingly confused. “Ow…” He squeaked as his arm was twisted further back. Kryptos laughed coldly. “Looks like your Tesoro isn’t fully recovered yet. It’d be a shame if he loses that arm.” He mentioned, paused for a second and then continued. “We said it before, Pines, we have nothing against him. He paid the price already. But you and your men continue to defy us, and you seem to think you can win this.” The consigliere turned to Bill and set his hand on the injured shoulder, squeezing it. Bill visibly cringed, instinctively trying to get his arm out of the grip, which in turn made the pain worse. Ford reached through the bars again. “Stop, don’t hurt him, I’ll do as you ask.” He pleaded, and all three criminals dropped the Bill at the same time, causing him to go down like a sack of flour. “Eccellente! I knew we’d come to an agreement. Ah, I’m even feeling generous. I’ll give you some time to say goodbye.” Kryptos cackled as he walked off again. The camera died.

Bill sat up. Amor came rushing in with a ready-made cocktail of painkillers, and while the Don chugged it, the doctor had time to examine the shoulder. “I warned you. You’re going to get yourself killed, or worse.” He grumbled, shushing Bill whenever he tried to object. “Nothing is pulled, you’re not bleeding, but your tendons and muscles are damaged. Again.” He smeared some sort of cream on the shoulder and bandaged it up. “I warned you, sir. It’s two weeks before the deadline. No more strain on your shoulder if you want to be even remotely ready to go into the field for it. And with how you’re acting now, I seriously doubt it. You’re risking permanent damage.” Amor was stern, Bill looked sheepish.

Ford interrupted the little scene by rattling the bars. Teeth came out of nowhere and unlocked the ‘cell’. “Attento! Don’t break my décor!” He whined, but the chief ignored him, instead rushed to his husband’s side, not sure if he wanted to hug or punch him. “What are you doing here, Bill? I thought everything was under control.” He eventually asked, pushing Amor aside once he was finished. Amor did not care for this and began to scold Ford. “You are one impossible man, you know that? Look at you, your fists are bloody and your entire arm is bruised. Get a grip on your emotions.” He rummaged through his bag of medical supplies and pulled out a strip of pills. “Take two of these for the swelling and then go wash your hands.” He ordered, before tending to his patient again, getting Bill up and out of the studio.

Hector took Ford by the shoulder and led him back through the headquarters, to the room where he’d been staying. There the chief was allowed to freshen up and was given breakfast and coffee. Ford would have preferred to be with Bill, but none of his arguments swayed the capo in the slightest. “He’s getting a massage now anyway. You’ll talk to him before we bring you back.” Hector promised, looking like he had a rough night himself. “What’s going on, Hector? What is he planning?” Ford nursed his coffee. Hector shook his head. “I don’t know everything, but I’ll tell you what I can.” He sat down next to Ford.

“The boss’ original plan was to get you here around next week and send your people on a wild goose chase to get you back, while he pulled off two major plans in one night. None of the capos knew about this except me, Kryptos and Teeth. Teeth is furious that he didn’t get to use all the other backdrops he was planning.” Hector’s moustache curled as he grinned.

“When he got shot by you, he had to quickly inform many people of his relationship with you. He did this by calling a meeting of all capos and dropping the bomb. Some are taking it better than others. He also announced that to hide his identity to the police force, he’d stage an incident in which the chief’s husband would get injured in the crossfire, and the chief himself, you, would be hauled off. I think he decided to combine things to not raise too much suspicion about how easily they could get to you.” Hector continued, while Ford tried to wrap his head around the full scope of the situation. It was a mess.

“Keeping your men in check has proven to be a lot harder than Boss and Kryptos expected. The new detective is a major part of the problem, but he is one man, and Boss would have been able to handle him, if another problem hadn’t reared its head. Your men are being abusive towards innocent people. They are letting prejudice lead their decisions, something boss can’t stand. He’s mad, he’s trying to hide it and keep it in for your sake, but the straw that broke the camel’s back came with Dan Corduroy insulting half the Italian market within Boss’s earshot. And now he feels that the only way this mess can be salvaged is with you leading the force and deliberately steering them in a way he wants.” That concluded the explanation. Ford didn’t say anything. He didn’t know where to start. He was disappointed to hear racism was part of the equation; he’d hoped his men were better than that. Maybe it was time to rethink Dan’s position within the police force.

A little later, Hector brought the chief to a private room he hadn’t been in before. Bill was sitting behind a desk, looking through reports. When Ford came in, he looked up and smiled, reaching out with his good arm. Ford came over and they did embrace eachother, albeit carefully. Ford was happy to feel his partner bury his face in his shoulder and take a deep breath. When they finally let go, Bill said something unexpected: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get this out of hand.” He had clearly lost a lot of his cockiness. The chief had a hunch that Hector and Amor were responsible for that. “I know you didn’t, Bill. Neither did I. It’s my fault too.” He started, but his husband cut him off.

“No, it’s not. At least this mess is not. Mi dispiace, è colpa mia.” He sighed. “And now, before you go, I have a few last things you need to know. The final instructions I guess.” The reluctance was clear; Bill didn’t want to be separated from Ford again, but they had no choice. They were in too deep now. “It’s nothing major either. Of course, there’s the matter of your captivity here. When Fiddleford asks, and he will, you were either blindfolded or the people handling you wore masks. You didn’t see faces, except the dead bodies of the two who came to get you that night. I want that to be known to the corps, and to Fiddleford. Second is of course the date of my plans. Your men already know that they are to be ‘understaffed’ that day, and there will be no traffic control the entire day. Now your personal instructions are very easy. A reliable source told me that Fiddleford suspects that our headquarters are outside town. I want you to feed into that. For the bank heist, send a squad that is good with traffic chases, and set up roadblocks after you get the call that something is happening.” Bill was working down a list. Ford interjected shortly.

“Won’t that put your people in serious danger of getting caught? I mean, it is the proper protocol for that scenario, but I normally hesitate to follow it because-.” He was cut off by Bill. “I know, I have it covered. The roadblock isn’t for my people, it’s for the neighbours. You’ll see. I won’t be there anyway, I’ll be at the warehouse. Which is where you will be going too, when it’s all over. If all goes well, you will be getting the call that something happened there after we’re already done. We’ll have vanished without a trace by the time you will arrive, but investigation is worth a shot, blah blah blah. You know that world better than I do.” The gangster waved his hand. “You’ll want to be there because it is the less quick-paced heist. I’ll have time to leave information on how you will get me back. You can tell your people that, for what it’s worth, you have our word that I will be treated more as a guest than a hostage. At least as long as you behave. You saw Kryptos in the studio, that’s what he will be like every time.” That was about it, Ford was up to speed.

They had little time to argue about the details, it was time for the chief to go ‘home’. Hector was in charge of the operation, and had picked two reliable young men he had personally plucked from a drug den, rehabilitated and given new jobs within the Syndicate. They’d sooner take a bullet for Hector than betray the boss. They were fidget-y when Hector delivered Ford to them. Not a wonder, they both had experiences with law enforcement back when they were still junkies. The chief gave them a mostly resigned look before getting in the car. Hector gave them a few instructions, they calmed down, and off they went. Ford had a hood over his head, to keep locations hidden. He didn’t speak much during the ride, tried to figure out the route they took by how things felt, and attempted to stay positive about the mess they were in. Bill probably knew what he was doing.

When the car stopped, the two didn’t remove the hood, just assisted the chief out of the car, through a door and down a couple of stairs. They guided him to sit down against a wall and pressed something in his hand, with the instruction to count to fifty before he would do anything. Then they ran off. Of course Ford didn’t actually wait, but nobody had expected him to. Instead, he pulled the hood off immediately and ran a hand through his hair. The two were already out of sight, he was alone in some basement. Considering the dust and vague smell of mould in the air, it had been abandoned for a while. Light came in through a small window above his head. Looking down, he found that they had left him with a phone. Without hesitating, he called the number of the station, and Fiddleford picked up.

“Inspector McGucket, Gravity Falls police station, who am I talking to?” Ford was so relieved to hear that voice while able to talk mostly freely, without having gangsters looking over his shoulders or feeding him words. “Chief Stanford Pines here. I’ve been released from custody and could use a ride to the station.” He answered, trying to not sound too tired. What followed was the sound of a phone obviously being dropped, orders being given, and the phone being picked up again. “Ford! I mean- Chief! They kept their word? We’re tracking your location, stay on the line until we have it. Are you alright? Injured in any way?” It was clear Fiddleford tried to remain professional and failing miserably. The chief didn’t comment on it. “I’m fine, no injuries other than what I know you’ve seen on screen, and those are as good as healed anyway. Mentally, I’m mostly exhausted, worried sick about my husband, and mad that these gangsters are wiping the floor with my police force. I haven’t been tortured to the point I need therapy. I can handle that with self-care.” He answered instead, successfully cutting off any suggestions about seeing a doctor or counsellor. Now all he had to worry about was the protocol suggesting he would have to step down from the case due to personal involvement.

It took about twenty minutes for a police cruiser to show up at Ford’s location. The investigative squad arrived soon after. The chief gave his recorded statement on site. As discussed, he informed Fiddleford that he hadn’t been able to see any faces, aside from the girl who brought him food. He gave as detailed a description of her as he could but admitted that he didn’t even think of her as a part of the whole drama. She’d been kind to him and probably knew nothing of what happened in the syndicate. And going to the police about someone held prisoner when said prisoner was the chief of police himself? He didn’t blame her for not doing anything. Fiddleford pointed out that she might talk now, and they should at least keep an eye out for her. Ford conceded and that was that. They went back to the station as soon as possible. By then it was early afternoon, and the chief made them stop at a bakery to get some food in him. While his captivity had been annoying, he would miss Carmen’s cooking.

Back at the station, Fiddleford took the chief to his office to have a briefing about where they stood now. The detective didn’t even bother suggesting Ford should be benched, he knew he would never agree to that. Instead, they focussed on the situation at hand and how to proceed. “They’re very thorough, Ford. So far, they managed to stop us from tracking their location, no matter how much we tried. Cross-referencing the background didn’t give any known location, voice recognition isn’t working, they cut off any lead we get. And to add insult to injury; they are delivering on their promises.” Fiddleford’s leg was bouncing again. “They gave us updates on your condition and treated you better when we stood back. They warned us when outsiders came to cause trouble, gave us the evidence we needed to arrest them, and they even took care of their own business with minimal victims. And from what I read on old reports, they behaved like that before. It’s infuriating. We know they are breaking the law, we can see it with our own eyes. But any evidence we could have, even the recordings of the videocalls and messages, nothing can actually trace back to them.”  

Ford had been listening to the detective rant on about the syndicate, but now he put a stop to it. “Calm down. I was afraid this would happen when you’d come here and dive into the ongoing war between the mob and the force. I meant to give you a briefing beforehand, so you wouldn’t be going in blind, but with the abduction, I couldn’t do that.” He removed himself for a minute and came back with a file he’d been keeping in his desk. When the detective started explaining he had read the files about the Syndicate, Ford interrupted him. “Yes, you have read the police reports, and most likely the other detectives’ files. This isn’t that. I kept another file that helps me keep my sanity whenever I feel like the fight against organised crime is a hopeless endeavour and I might as well retire right here and now.” He sat down and opened up the map.

“This isn’t a compilation of police reports and our successes against them. This is a history of the Nightmare Syndicate in our town.” Ford started, laying out the timeline. “You must understand that this fight didn’t start with me, or the Dream Demon. The Syndicate is a direct continuation of its Italian counterparts. It’s been proven that the first crime boss in this town was a member of La Cosa Nostra, in New Orleans. It was one of the few branches out here in Oregon, and it persevered over time. The Syndicate has historically controlled a large part of Oregon and is only rivalled by unrelated criminals from most sides. Their closest rivalling familigia, as they call it, would be north of here in Seattle, Washington.” Ford traced his finger over the map on the table, outlining a large area, almost the entire state. “Their main base of operations has always been here, in Gravity Falls, but they are known to occasionally get into confrontations much further south. In other counties, the police are usually focussed on local crime, leaving the big fish to us.” He continued shortly, knowing Fiddleford probably knew this.

Indeed, the detective looked impatient. Ford cut to the chase: “The Nightmare Syndicate’s influence and power stabilized during the Prohibition era. This was also their most violent period. Police reports from back then are still kept in our archives, and are used even now when new people are briefed on the situation here. You know which cases I speak of.” He paused until Fiddleford gave a nod, clearly somewhat uncomfortable to be reminded of them. “After the Prohibition ended, the Syndicate, along with most other Mafia families, shifted their focus to other businesses. It reduced the violent encounters significantly, and part of their activities even became legal. You won’t find many cases from that period still on file, but I have a few reports of money laundering and smuggling I believe can be traced back to them.” He shifted a few papers and continued. “Joe Valachi’s famous betrayal of his people, and the subsequent arrest of many leaders, have mostly missed the Gravity Falls mafia. Despite their large area of influence, they aren’t seen as a big fish. They’re the only Syndicate active in Oregon, and their crimes don’t include human trafficking or drug smuggling. With that in mind, the Gravity Falls Police Department has mostly dealt with the gangsters alone, keeping the crime numbers in check and working as hard as they could to take down the Syndicate altogether.”

Fiddleford ran a hand through his hair. “Obviously this hasn’t worked very well. They’re still here and have zero respect for the law.” He complained. Ford made a face. “Not completely. When they went underground, a trend started where their crimes were less callous and disrespectful. Murder rate went down because they learned it would put a bigger target on their backs. Despite their name, they aren’t monsters. They are people who make a living. Yes, their respect for the law is minimal, but it isn’t necessarily aimed at us. So what you call disrespect, and infuriating behaviour, is mostly self-preservation.” Then he closed the map. “When we fight this evil, we have to keep in mind they are also responsible for a significant portion of the local economy. This isn’t a black and white situation.” He finished his tirade. Fiddleford just stared at him. “Have they brainwashed you somehow while you were in there?” He asked sharply.

“No. This has been going on for much longer than this abduction. And don’t get me wrong, several branches of the Syndicate should definitely be dismantled, and its leading parties be prosecuted for their crimes, but carefully. There is a reason the mob has been a continuous presence in this country for this long. We have to accept that we probably won’t be the people to put an end to it.” Now the chief just sounded tired. The detective took pity on him. “You’re scared about Bill, aren’t you? Not just because of this whole thing, but because every step you take could mean retaliation done to him.” He concluded. Ford nodded. “Yes, Bill is in a horrible position, and everything I do has to be with him in the back of my mind.” Well, there wasn’t a single lie spoken there.