It's been a while since I fed this fandom. Hey again. I made cookies. They're underbaked (aka it's just a drabble, it's not finished/clean) but they're still cookies.
Wolf-shifter AU because I've barely tried my hand at it, and also I imagined Rudy wearing a cute little K9 harness with patches on and my heart melted.
Summary:
- Wolf-shifters Soap + Rudy
- Angst/hurt/action, with a smidge of good old comfort towards the end. It's not a finished drabble, but it has a happy ending.
- Stereotypical mission-gone-awry setting. Rudy (and Soap) are ambushed during a recon mission, and Alejandro comes to the rescue. The rest of the 141 are here, although background characters within this drabble. Minor/hinted Ghoap, but it's VERY small. Legit just one sentence.
Word count: ~3000
TWs: I suppose animal abuse? Anything to do with animals being hurt. Cause there's a lot of that. I mean it's a wolf-shifter fic.
—
The informant hadn’t given much, just a rough grid and a whisper about movement in the hills. Possibly El Sin Nombre loyalists regrouping. It was vague, but for Alejandro, anything to do with El Sin Nombre was worth checking out. This patch of land wasn’t cartel-owned anymore, last he checked, but that didn’t stop anyone from using it as they pleased.
Dry hills and old farmland, scattered with scrub and thorn trees. There were a few small abandoned trailers here and there, but what instantly came to his mind was the old rickety ranch, left to dust since before even he was born. A decayed mess, perfectly hidden within the trees. A perfect spot for cartel looking to lay low and regroup.
Its location made things slightly difficult, however. Given it was well-hidden behind piles of tight-knit foliage, with only a single, semi-abandoned passing road beside it, a full surprise-ambush from Los Vaqueros would be seen from miles away, if there truly were high-ranking criminals gathered inside. It just wasn’t ideal for a full-team deployment, given the specifics.
But it was suitable for K9-deployment. The thick, dense grass of the abandoned fields was more than enough cover for a dog to slip by unnoticed, and, once they hit the dense foliage of the woods, they’d be able to maneuver through it far better than a team of humans ever could.
Rodolfo had volunteered for the job before they’d even finished planning. However Alejandro wasn’t sending him in alone, simple recon or not. Over his dead body.
That was why he’d contacted 141, and asked for a hand. Or a paw, more specifically. Soap had been more than willing to take a detour to help out.
And so had the rest of them, apparently.
Four up high on overwatch, two down low, on recon. In-and-out, sniff for any signs of life, and leave unnoticed.
That was the plan, anyway.
—
Price was stationed just east of his own position. He could just barely see the man, belly-down against the rough outcrop of stone that scattered the lower portions of the hillside. On either side of him lay two furrier, smaller figures, pressed just as close to the earth as he was.
He watched as Price’s scope surveyed the fields. “No movement.” Came the Captain’s crackly voice through the comm line. “Alejandro?”
“No movement.” He confirmed, angling the scope of his weapon slightly, “Soap, Rudy, proceed as planned.”
The two wolves slinked forward in an instant, leaving behind the Captain to begin their trek down the rest of the hillside.
They were as stealthy as they were fast, for in a blink of an eye, Alejandro had almost lost them as they hit the dry grass below. Had it not been for their K9 harnesses, he probably wouldn’t have been able to relocate them. The harnesses themselves were black in colour, in typical military-issued style, but it was the colours of the flags stitched onto the back of them that stood out. Soap’s bright Union Jack, and Rudy’s colourful México flag, respectively. He used those to train his scope onto, following the duo as they maneuvered through the fields.
Soap led the way, his mottled, light brown fur blending in seamlessly with the dry, dead grass. Rudy stood out a little more as he followed close behind, his fur being a deep, rich black. From this distance, however, he looked as if he could be Soap’s shadow, rather than a whole other wolf.
“There’s a small clearing up ahead.” Price murmured into the comms. “Head left, Soap. Rudy, follow. Best to avoid it.”
There was a puff of air blown through the mic as Soap huffed. He adjusted course, and his shadow followed.
From this new position of theirs, Alejandro could make out other patches stitched onto the harnesses. Rudy’s little Fuerzas Especiales tag was much smaller than his México tag, but it was there, near his flank, its bright blue a stark contrast against black fur. Soap had a tag on this side, too, but its white writing was small, and hard to read against the glare of the sun. He’d gotten a look at it earlier, however, before the mission had begun. It wasn’t anything militarized– it’d read something along the lines of ‘Squirrel Patrol’. Whatever that was supposed to mean. Soap had told him Gaz had bought it for ‘shits and giggles’.
Rudy had grinned and said it looked ridiculous.
“Hold on.” Ghost’s voice cracked in through the comm line. In an instant, the wolves stopped, bellies hitting the dirt. “Vehicle passing through. Stand-by.”
He couldn’t see anything, from his own viewpoint. Ghost and Gaz were positioned west, on the other side of the thick forest foliage. From their viewpoint, however, Alejandro knew they could see pieces of the road that trekked through this part of the countryside.
“It looks civilian.” Gaz spoke next, “Big-ass campervan.”
“There’s a caravan campsite not too far from here.” He pipes up. He hears Rudy grunt down the mic in some semblance of confirmation. “Most likely heading there. Wait for them to pass.”
“Affirm.” Ghost hums, “Johnny, you copy?”
Soap lets out a snort.
“Taking that as a yes, then, Sergeant. Hang tight.”
The comms settle back into a soft quiet. The vehicle moves on without a hitch. If he listens closely through his earpiece, he can hear the engine purring from what he assumes is either Rodolfo’s or MacTavish’s line.
There’s a few seconds pause before Ghost murmurs a quiet; “You’re clear to move up to the building. Remember that you have no overwatch during this bit, lads. You’re on your own.”
Soap padded forward slowly, Rudy hot on his heels as the pair broke through into the dense foliage, disappearing beneath its thick cover.
“The one thing I hate about recons like these.” Gaz’s voice mutters, “The wait.”
“I can second that.” Price sighed, before turning his attention back to the task at hand. “Remember you two: do not engage. You see anything fishy, you bail. Do I make myself clear?”
Soap lets out a little puff of air. Rudy’s silent, but it's clear the pair understand the message. Besides, if Alejandro expected one of them to break formation and attack, it wouldn’t be Rudy, so Soap’s confirmation means a whole lot more over his.
He listened intently to the comm line. Each crackle of a leaf under paws, each brush of fur against bushes and grass. The soft grunts and tiny yips of the pair as they communicated in the only way they could, weaving through who-knows-what as they near the ranch.
He can tell the moment they’ve reached the house, purely because what was once the loud sound of plants and life breaks away into silence once more. He assumes that now they must be in the clearing of where the old ranch is built. It’s small, from what his memory serves, but there’s plenty of places to hide. Old furniture, abandoned logs and piles of trash.
He tries to picture it– what they must be doing. Soap, going one way, Rudy another, the pair scouring the outskirts of the yard before beginning to slowly move closer, and closer, using the rusted materials around them for cover. He wonders if they’ve scented anything yet, or even seen someone. He’ll only know once they’re back, he supposes.
There’s a soft creak. One of them huffs at the other, hesitant. The other responds in tow with a more confident puff, and a few more creaks of what sounds like a weight being pressed against old wooden floorboards.
“Unless you see it absolutely fit, do not enter that house, Soap.” Price clearly knows his Sergeant well. The creaking halts, and Soap lets out another puff. “One of you stays outside if you’re going to check it out.”
“There’s two buildings, from what I remember.” He speaks into his own mic, “The main ranch and a stable just south of it.”
“Johnny can handle the house, then. Rudy, mind checking out the stables?”
There’s a quiet huff of air, and the sound of paws hitting dirt as Rudy no doubt heads over towards the stable doors. The creaking of the ranch’s floorboards come back as Soap continues his trek further. Alejandro can hear him sniffing at whatever’s inside.
Rudy’s comm picks up the soft, slow creak of an unlatched door being nudged open. It must be somewhat dusty inside, because Rudy sneezes, the sound embarrassingly loud across the line. Alejandro can’t help but smile at it.
Soap’s mic picks back up again. He’s snuffling, more intense now. The sounds of his nose working overdrive are low and fast. There’s no creaking of floorboards– had he found something? Not a person, obviously, for he lets out a sharp grunt, clipped and frustrated. Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound fresh enough for Soap’s satisfaction.
There’s the sound of claws hitting more sturdy wood. A sniff or two. From which wolf this time, he’s uncertain. Then one of them–
A growl. Low, rough, and guttural.
It’s neither of theirs.
Wood splinters, and there’s a bark– loud. Panicked. The sound of claws scraping violently against wood, and then a terrible, agonising, gut-wrenching squeal tears from one of their throats.
Alejandro’s whole body jolts. His heart stops. He knows that sound. He’d only heard it once before but he knows that sound.
His voice is barely breath as it escapes him, "Rodolfo."
Then he’s moving.
He doesn’t think- he just runs. Bursting up from his perch with his rifle slung across his chest, legs pumping, tearing through dry grass and scattered stone like a man possessed.
“Alejandro, stand down!” Price barks through the comm, already scrambling to react. “Repeat– stand down!”
But he doesn’t hear them. All he’s focused on is the sounds in his ears. The warbled, animalistic wails. All he hears is Rudy. That horrible sound- raw and high and all wrong.
He nearly trips as he crests the slope, boots skidding on loose dirt. His breath saws out of him. The radio howls in his ear.
“Gaz,” Price growls, “get eyes on them, now!”
“I’m tryin’!” comes the sharp reply, “Trees’re too thick, can’t get a good spot–”
“Rodolfo!” Alejandro pants into his mic, not caring how desperate he sounds. The cries haven’t stopped- if anything, they’re only getting louder. Getting worse. Rudy sounds more animal than man now. “Rudy!”
He gets nothing in return.
Then, Soap’s mic flares.
A flurry of new noise– gravelly snarls, claws on wood, high-pitched yips and growls. There’s a loud, jarring thud as something slams hard against a wall. A pained whine is drawn from Soap’s throat.
“Johnny!” Ghost barks, “Shit– Gaz, cover me!”
“Gotcha!”
He’s close enough now that he can hear the sounds of the fight without his earpiece. Rudy’s screams -he can’t call them anything else- stab into his skull, but they’re drowned out by the cacophony of growls, yelps, and snapping jaws. The air itself feels sick with it.
Alejandro vaults the fence and barrels through the brush, rifle ready.
Then he hits the clearing.
And for a second, the world simply stops.
A mass of bodies writhes in the center of the ruined stableyard. Dozens of limbs, matted, twisted, smeared with blood, tangle over one another in a frenzied, fluid mess. At first glance, one could mistake them for snakes.
But they weren’t. They were wolves. Feral, rabid wolves.
The creatures roll and snap and claw, indistinguishable from each other in the churned-up, gore-soaked dirt. They're so thoroughly coated in blood that their natural colors have vanished beneath red and mud. Only when one head lifts, its eyes catching the light, mouth peeled back in a foaming snarl, does he realize there’s something beneath them. Something alive.
Then he sees the harness. Ripped. Bloodstained. Barely clinging to fur that was once a dark, sleek black. The blue patch is almost torn off entirely.
Rudy.
His body is pinned, his limbs twisted in angles that make Alejandro nauseous to look at. The muscles in his side jerk as he kicks feebly, his mouth open in his own blood-foamed snarl. Every sound he makes is pure, raw agony– high, keening cries punched out of a crushed, folded ribcage. His paws batters uselessly against the dirt as the creatures above him chew mercilessly into his flesh.
Alejandro stumbles forward– then stops.
Another figure, away from the hoard. Another wolf. A little larger. Battered, coated in just as much blood. It’s limping, front-heavy. Its back left leg barely lifts from the ground, its ribs heave with effort. But it charges forward regardless, fangs bared in a hoarse, wheezing snarl. It seizes one of the attacking wolves by the scruff and yanks, claws digging into the ground for leverage.
It’s not until the wolf turns its head, revealing one blood-shot blue eye behind a soaked, torn ear that Alejandro realises just who that is.
“Soap–!” Alejandro snaps to action, raising his rifle- but there’s no shot he can take. They’re too tangled, too intertwined with one another. He grits his teeth. “Pull it further!”
Soap responds with a guttural growl, bracing himself. His injured leg buckles, but he uses the momentum to drag the attacking wolf sideways. It turns on him now, spitting blood. It doesn’t even get to breathe the same air as Soap before Alejandro fires.
Crack.
The bullet slams through its skull from the side. It drops in an instant, its legs stiffening mid-motion. It then crumples with a heavy thud, blood fountaining from its snout. Soap lets out a noise that he can only assume is a thank you.
Only for the sound to turn into a shriek as another one from the pile glances up, seeing Soap, and, without further warning, lunges.
It hurls into him with teeth bared, jaws snapping down on Soap’s already-injured haunch. A pained wail bursts out of him, raw and instinctual. The force of the impact knocks him onto his side, into the dirt.
Soap twists like a demon, writhing underneath the beast’s grip. He rolls with the momentum of the push, grabbing hold of the wolf’s neck with his own teeth. They roll together, tumbling across the dirt until Soap is positioned on top instead, claws pressing the wolf into the ground, raking down its flank and shredding fur from skin. The feral thing lets out its own shriek, trying with renewed rigor to throw Soap off. It manages to push Soap away from it with its back legs, exposing its face to his gun.
Alejandro takes the opening.
The second bullet is louder than the first. The round punches through the wolf’s neck, and it lets out a gurgled wail, the fight draining out of its body as fast as the blood pooling out from its arteries. It falls limp.
Soap is staggering now. His back leg is completely slack, bearing no weight as he stumbles, his face slick with blood and dust. But despite it, he doesn’t stop moving. He throws himself into the fray again, heading right back toward Rudy, snarling like a man possessed.
There’s only one wolf now, anchored to Rudy’s flank like some sort of disgusting parasite. Its whole head is buried in his side, jaws locked, as if it were trying to dig inside of him. Rudy thrashes beneath its weight, his movements weaker now, his fight drained. His snarls are quickly turning once more into garbled wails.
Alejandro lifts the rifle, but Soap is faster.
He slams into the creature at full force. It’s bigger than him, much more so, but Soap moves like he doesn’t notice. With a brutal lurch, he clamps his jaws onto the base of its skull and shakes. The sound is horrific. A crack, a wet pop. The beast lets out a high, horrible squeal. It spasms like nothing he’s ever seen before, its eyes wide and mouth agape, before it falls limp, twitching in the dust.
And suddenly, like the air being sucked from the world– it’s over.
Alejandro’s moving before his brain even registers it.
He drops down onto his knees, smearing his trousers in blood as they scrape along the dirtied ground. He doesn’t care– his eyes are on Rudy and Rudy alone. Rudy, who even now still wails softly. Rudy, who even after the fight is finished is still desperate to crawl away from an unseen foe, paws moving lethargically against the dust.
“Easy, Rudy, easy-” He starts, pressing a hand onto his partner’s shoulder. His voice is meant to soothe, to calm, but Rudy’s useless fight is renewed with vigor. He presses firmer, easily rooting the wolf to the ground with just one palm. The thought makes him feel violently ill. Rudy shouldn’t be easy to subdue. Rudy was strong, he was powerful. Alejandro had seen what he was capable of in this form of his. He shouldn’t be like this- reduced to… to…
His face crumples. His hand, still pressing down, rubs circles across lines of untouched fur. There’s little of it, but it seemed as if Rudy’s harness had protected him somewhat. Slowed the teeth and claws, even if just for a little while. Small mercies. “Rodolfo.” He tries once more, “Lie still, okay?”
But Rudy does not listen. He squirms and writhes beneath his grip, those heartwrenching cries of pain mixing in with aggressive, panicked snarls. His muscles twitch and pulse with each desperate attempt to get up. To flee. To fight back.
He leans closer. Presses his free hand to the back of Rudy’s head. Firm, yet soft. He cups it, gently, fingers intertwining with matted fur, curling behind the base of his flattened ears. "Shh, no te muevas, Rudy.” He murmurs to him, voice a soothing, steady rumble. At least, he hopes it is. “Quédate quieto."
Rudy’s ears flicker, swiveling slightly. A breathy, confused whine ripples from his throat.
“Aquí estoy,” He continues, scrubbing his fingers gently through his fur. He leans closer, pressing a kiss to the little inch of fur on his cheek, unmarred by blood or dirt. “No me voy a ir, ¿sí?”
Recognition returned some life to Rudy’s soulless, hazy brown eyes. Alejandro couldn’t help but smile wetly as he felt a tail weakly thump against his thigh. "Así, así…” He pressed another kiss to his cheek, “shh."
There’s a soft thud, nearby.
Alejandro glances up to find Soap, just a mere metre away, collapsed onto the floor beside them. His breathing is rough, ragged and heavy, but his eyes are open and wide, alert, more so than Rudy, at least. He’s conscious, and aware.
“Thank you.” He rasps out to Soap. Soap simply blinks back at him. “God, thank you.”
—
This is my first fic back in what feels like eons. Sad to say you shouldn't expect more, though I've got an interest in finishing/cleaning this up/having a whole little mini recovery set of drabbles of the aftermath, but it's deep in the works/a sideline project.
It (in its current state) involves a lot of cute cuddles, medical care, hurt/comfort and other dope shi, very nice, very cool. But very, very unfinished.
This is a small continuation of this work I made (not that you need to read it to understand. It's based off of Hassan's attack on Rudy in the game) because I wanted some quick fluff to add to it, but not enough worthy of a whole chapter:
Burning bright. - Chapter 1 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]
Summary to this: After Hassan's brutal attack on Rodolfo, Alejandro takes him home. Real home, no bases, no soldiers. Home.
~
“Love,” A voice called out.
Warm, gentle fingers carded through his sooty hair. “Rudy,” Alejandro cooed, carefully thumbing debris off of his long lashes. A soft kiss pressed onto the skin on his nose. “I know you’re tired, mi amor…”
He couldn’t help but let out a low whine, sleepily leaning against calloused hands. Tired was an understatement. He was fucking exhausted beyond belief- he couldn’t even keep his eyes open. Everything ached, too. He was gun-whipped, burnt alive, bleeding, and bruised. His bruises had bruises, which in turn also had bruises of its own. Three whole fucking generations worth on his skin, atop the blood and the gore of the night, and not to mention the agonizing ache in his poor, overworked muscles. He felt horrible.
“I know, love, I know.” Alejandro sounded wounded as he spoke, taking Rudy’s face in his hands, fingers brushing over his cheeks. “We’re home now. I just need to get you out of the car, okay?”
Home?
Home turned out to be Alejandro’s house. How they got from America to here, Rudy had no clue, but he wasn’t about to complain. Not when he was set down onto the comfiest pillows and wrapped in the softest of blankets. It felt like heaven.
“Hey.”
He cracked open an eye, peering up at Alejandro, who quickly kneeled down at his side. He conjured up a tired smile, hoping it looked how he wanted it to. Grateful. Relieved. Happy. Rudy was glad he wasn’t brought back to Los Vaqueros’ base. He loved his soldiers, and of course his medics, but he loved Alejandro more. He felt safer than he ever could feel behind patrolled, barbed wire fences.
Alejandro raised a hand to brush through his ragged hair, still sooty. Rudy closed his eyes as the touch hit him, sighing raspily. “Are you hungry?” Nimble fingers brushed hair to rest behind his ears, “Roo?”
He shook his head, leaning into the touch that now tickled down his face. He was thirsty, though. He hadn’t had a drop to drink since surviving the blaze. Some water wouldn’t be turned down.
Alejandro understood this- understood him. He always did. The hand removed itself, and a few moments later, it was back, a cup being pressed into his cracked lips. “Drink, love.”
So he did, letting his partner’s hands guide him, trusting him. He always trusted him.
When Alejandro deemed it enough, he pulled the glass away, setting it down onto the nightstand with a clink. He rubbed Rudy’s shoulder softly. “Do you need anything else?”
Rudy opened his eyes once more, reaching out to catch Alejandro’s sleeve with his fingers, holding on shakily.
The man’s eyes crinkled with amusement at the motion. “Alright.”
Once the older man was in bed beside him, Rodolfo turned, pressing himself to the warmth that was Alejandro, stuffing his cold nose into the crook of the man’s neck.
Alejandro responded in turn by chuckling, pulling him closer, rubbing a hand over his shoulder blades soothingly as Rudy wiggled closer, practically a part of him. “Like a little worm, aren’t you?”
He nodded into the fabric of his shirt. The way Alejandro’s fingers trailed over his bruised skin seemed to mend away the pain. His soft kisses into very obviously dirty hair pulled away any chance of a headache blooming. Al’ warmed him, but didn’t stifle him, not like the heat of the fire, and not like the cold of America’s biting nightfall. He was soft, unlike the whipping winds of that evening, or the crackle of gunshots through the air.
He was perfect. This was perfect.
Hassan could wait another day. Today Rudy slept, today he rested, and today he healed.
~
Yeah I felt bad for leaving that AleRudy story I made with what felt like very little fluff. I like writing fluff but sometimes it feels like it doesn't fit, you know? I'm very much a 'realism' writer, and I don't actually think any of this would happen so it feels so OOC for me lmao, especially for character's like Ghost and Soap. But Ale and Rudy is so much easier because look at those smitten motherfuckers.
Anyway hope you enjoy a lil bit of AleRudy brainrot. I might drop more little drabbles like this occasionally if people like 'em, because a lot of the time this is what my works end up being. Unfinished little pieces that are too short to consider putting on my AO3.
