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foap-enjoyer · 7 months

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Hostage | Kidnapping | Held at gunpoint

Held at gunpoint.

'After surviving a deadly explosive, Soap and Rudy must navigate themselves out of a collapsing building. The thing is, they're not as alone as they think they are.'

Triggers for this prompt: Blood, explosions, breathing issues. Ships for this prompt: Implied Ghoap, implied AleRudy, semi-implied SoapRudy.

Word count: Around 4000, a lot longer than my usual ones.

Read it here, on AO3: Ouch. - Chapter 3 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

Mexico had really grown on Soap. Las Almas had especially grown on Soap.

It only made sense. He may have not grown up in this city like his friends, Alejandro and Rodolfo, but he had spent countless nights here helping to defend it. He’d seen what his friends do to defend it too, on the daily. He’d seen the love and adoration in their eyes, the protectiveness of a nurturing mother to a young child. It made it impossible to not root for the city besides them.

141 often came back to the city as a squad. It was almost like a holiday for them, except they weren’t on vacation and were there to help out Los Vaqueros with menial tasks. Price called it training, Soap called it a paid holiday.

Today, however, it was more like a paid nightmare.

It had started off normal enough, though. Nice cup of coffee, bickering with Gaz, joking with Ghost, a usual morning for 141.

Los Vaqueros were great hosts. It helped that the leaders of said group of ‘cowboys’ were their personal friends, of course. Rudy was always in charge of their accommodation each time they visited, and he never skipped on pleasantries. He loved to spoil the Brits like they were his own children, which Soap couldn’t refuse, of course. Who didn’t like to be spoiled?

They got their own little apartment for the four of them, on base. One of the best, actually, a spacious nice little home with four bedrooms, two en-suites and a fully-functional kitchen and living room. Where they got the funds for these kinds of things, Soap had no idea, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Though he might’ve, only for the fact that Price and Ghost got dibs on an en-suite. Rude.

Anyway.

Usually, their day consisted of running drills alongside Los Vaqueros’ soldiers. Or more specifically, Gaz and Soap would run drills and get all sweaty and irritated while Price sunbathed and Ghost read a book off to the side, safely tucked in the shade.

Alejandro and Rodolfo, for the most part, would either supervise or be off doing other things themselves. They weren’t instructors, after all. They were leaders, and as it turns out, leaders do a lot of paperwork.

Sometimes though, they would all pack into a truck together. Him, Gaz, and Rudy in the back like ‘children’ while Price, Ghost and Alejandro sat up front like ‘adults’. If Soap was being honest, it was slightly humiliating to be crunched between the Staff-Sergeant and the Sergeant-Major like some forgotten middle child, but he enjoyed it. Purely because it got them out of drills.

During these days, they would go around Las Almas. Usually they had a specific thing in mind. An elderly shop owner asking for assistance, a woman with a lost dog. Turns out Los Vaqueros did a lot more than just being soldiers. They were caretakers. Helpers. Protectors.

Sometimes, though, there would be actual issues. Soap enjoyed those days more than he should’ve.

Today was one of those days. A patrol of Los Vaqueros had noted strange activity in a set of abandoned buildings off of the south-side of the spacious city. Old, ex-apartment buildings nestled within the town. They claimed they had seen figures going in and out over a few nights now, and Alejandro wanted to check it out himself.

So, he’d brought Rudy, being that the man was his second-in-command, and had been gracious enough to let 141 tag along. There were no complaints on their end. Running drills got incredibly boring after a while, of course.

When they arrived, they were greeted with three, huge buildings, standing in a sad little row. Old, worn, and just about done-in entirely. Moss, vines- anything that could grow had grown, sneaking through the windows and into cracks of the concrete walls.

It was sort of beautiful, in a way.

“Soap, Rudy, you two can check that first building.” Alejandro had instructed, “Ghost, Price, that second one. Me and Garrick will check the third one. Once we’re all done we meet up here, alright?”

Strange, slightly unusual duos, but Soap didn’t mind it. Rudy was a nice guy, one of the sweetest people he’d ever met. He had no qualms on his side, and by the smile the Sergeant-Major shot him in turn from the other side of their squad’s little circle, he didn’t seem to have any issues either. This was just a simple little recon mission, after all.

Why would there be any issues?

Soap really, really should learn to shut his mouth sometimes.

The building had been normal, to begin with. Sure, it creaked under their feet as they advanced, checking each and every room, but it held strong. It was almost like visiting his grandparent’s house, the familiar grunt of the worn-down stairs as they advanced upwards sounding incredibly similar to when he would attempt to tiptoe downstairs for a snack late at night, as a young child.

Soap led the way, and Rudy followed closely on his heels. Turns out the other man preferred to follow, not lead, even if he was, technically, a rank above Soap. If they were going off of Mexico’s military ranking, at least.

“Helps me see a situation clearer.” He explained from behind him, tucked into his shadow, flashlight beaming out as he pointed it down the corridor where they had just come from. “That makes sense, right?”

“No, yeah, I getcha, mate.” He nodded, turning them down another corridor. There were no windows down this route, nestled between heaps of rooms. “I’m the same, ‘cept sometimes it’s nice to lead, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Something about his tone sounded off, but Soap ignored it for now, moving deeper. “You seen anything yet?”

“Negative.” Rudy huffed, coughing slightly at the thin layer of dust surrounding them. “This place is old as fuck.”

“You said it.” He laughed. There was no way, beyond some teenagers, or maybe even some squatters, that anyone had been here for a long, long time. Maybe the soldiers who had claimed they had seen someone suspicious had simply been mistaken. “No ones been in here for years.”

The next room they came to still had the door on its frame, which was unusual.

What was more unusual was that, when Soap pressed down on the handle, the door wouldn't budge.

“Locked?” Rudy asked over his shoulder, his breath ghosting by his ear.

“No, something’s behind it.” He grunted as he shoved his body into the frame. Something shifted on the other side, ever so slightly. “I can feel it.”

“Odd…” Rudy hummed, “Together?”

So, together, they worked to jostle whatever it was behind the door enough to slip inside. It turned out to be a chair, placed there by a human.

“If someone put this here, then that means they must still be around, right?”

“Sí.” Rudy wandered around the room like a sniffer-dog. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. Or at least, he found something. He gestured Soap over from where he was standing on the other side of the large room. “Look.”

A tiny hole. Big enough for someone to wiggle through. “Think the person who put that chair is down there?”

Rudy shrugged, kneeling down to peer inside. “Probably.”

Soap turned as Rudy worked, viewing the rest of the room. It was huge. One wall of the room was covered head-to-toe in windows, and the other with beautiful graffiti from previous explorers. Names, pictures, hell, was that a pokemon he could see?

“Fuck!” Rudy spat, jumping up violently before beginning to sprint over to where Soap stood. “It’s filled with fucking explosives, get down-!”

His face collided harshly with concrete as he was shoved forwards by Rodolfo- instinctively, he raised his hands, pressing down against his neck and ears just as the explosives detonated.

A deafening roar filled the air as the explosion reverberated through the building, the sheer power of the shockwave being enough to shake the once-steady ground beneath them. Glass shattered from the surrounding windows, sharp crystal-like daggers raining down onto him where he lay.

It cut into his skin, his clothes- anywhere it could make purchase with his body, it did. He could feel it in his hair, his arms, his neck. Around him stunk of gunpowder, of dust. Of blood.

“Rudy?” He coughed, wheezing. He needed to find Rudy.

Pushing himself upwards with shaky hands, he ignored the way the glass stung against his flesh, how it ripped open the palms of his hands. Blinking away crystals of the stuff that clung to his lashes like glitter, he peered around at the carnage surrounding him.

Not that he could see a lot of it. A thick, brown and black dust coated everything. Every wall, every floor. Every surface. Rodolfo couldn’t be far from here, right? He’d practically been on top of Soap when the explosion hit… How far could one body travel before they disappeared beyond view?

He hoped Rudy was still alive.

Now on his knees, he shuffled through his kit, bloodied fingers finding his military-grade flashlight, flicking it on, a smear of blood left behind by the action. The light did little to cut the air, but it was the best he had.

Gathering himself finally to his feet, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as agony spread throughout his spine, running up and down and sending him crashing to the floor with a yelp. The flashlight fell from his hand, rolling across the dusty floor and out of view. Fuck.

“Rudy?” He gasped, “Rudy, fuck-” Where was everyone else? He knew that they had seen their building blow up, they had to be rushing to their aid, right? Had Rudy been found by them?

Desperation clawed at him like a feral animal. Even if the rest of 141 and Los Vaqueros had seen them go down, it didn’t change the fact that he was still in the building. A building that, by the looks of things, was very close to collapse. Rudy was, no doubt, still here with him. Rodolfo wouldn’t leave him here, which made it fairly obvious he was still lost in the fray of brick and debris, same as him.

He didn’t have time to ponder on what had caused such horrific agony in his back. He was a soldier, dammit, he’d been through worse, and he would continue to go through worse. This was simply one of those moments. He couldn’t just sit there and wail, waiting like a petrified child for their mother to come to their aid. He needed to get up, find Rodolfo, and get the fuck out of here.

Beginning once more to force himself upwards, he quickly became well-acquainted with how suffocating the smog was around him. It was making breathing feel like an Olympic sport at this point. He could feel pieces of debris in his lungs, rattling each and every breath to enter and leave him. At least this time, he was able to stay on his feet.

He could hear an alarm distantly, screeching and echoing into the silence.

It was weird how that worked. Something as devastating as an explosion, in a large building especially, and yet, the world was quiet. As if waiting on bated breath.

He too, was waiting on bated breath. Except in his case, the outcome relied entirely on him.

His hand found a crumbling wall, and he pushed himself forward into the smoke.

It didn’t take him long to find Rodolfo, actually. He just had to follow the path of destruction the man’s body had made.

“Rudy.” He rasped, falling onto his knees in front of him.

There was blood everywhere, he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Or who it was coming from, actually. They were both dead on their feet; the sight was gruesome. His hands reached up to grab Rudy’s cheeks, holding his head up from where it rested awkwardly against the destroyed wall behind him. Unconsciously, his thumbs began to move, rhythmic across the torn skin. He wasn’t sure if it was to soothe him, or Rodolfo.

He was certain the man had broken several bones, just looking at him. His chest was caved awkwardly, and his nose was certainly broken. His body had been through the ringer, but he was breathing. That, to him, was all that mattered.

Besides them getting the fuck out of here.

He still hadn’t heard any news from his comm-line. He’d tried radioing during his search, but he couldn’t connect to the outside, let alone Rodolfo himself. Either his radio was jammed, or this whole building was blocking the signal. Which was just peachy.

Or maybe, just maybe, all three buildings had explosives buried inside them. That was enough to twist his gut uncomfortably.

Rudy groaned, stirred slightly. His eyelashes fluttered, causing the dust around them to swirl.

“Rudy.” He shook his worried thoughts away, clutched closer, staring at the man’s half-lidded eyes, a hint of brown behind paled features. They weren’t focused on anything. He wasn’t waking up, at least anytime soon. Soap was on his own for this.

“Fuck, okay.” He let go of the man, setting his head gently back down before rolling onto the back of his heels, ignoring the pain that striked up his back like a snake, simply letting out a soft hiss. “Okay, okay. I got this.”

He just had to find an exit- how hard could that be?

Taking a deep breath, which he quickly regretted, of course, he looked around them. He knew there was a corridor that ran between rooms, as all buildings had. Maybe that was still intact…

It didn’t change the fact that he’d have to drag Rodolfo’s unconscious ass with him; and with the amount of pain he was already in, he didn’t know if he had it in him to do that.

But, as always, he had no choice. So, gritting his teeth, he forced himself to his feet.

He leant down just enough to hook his fingers into the shoulder-straps on Rudy’s tac-vest, tugging the man forward until he was free from his neat little slot into the broken wall.

His muscles screamed in protest as he dragged Rodolfo, and himself, in a way, through the debris-filled building. Each step he took echoed into the silence around them hauntingly- where had the alarms gone from before?

Rudy was limp below him, his feet leaving a trail atop the dust behind them as they ventured through the corridors. He made the occasional grunt, or groan, but otherwise, was deathly quiet. It scared him.

Though, he supposed, at least the silence was nice. It made it easier to hear for anything else, right? Made it easier to tell if they were alone. At least, he hoped.

Not that he expected the culprit of these explosives to be wandering around in its debris like a damn dumbass. He expected it to just be him, Rudy, and some tumbling pieces of rock. The place was abandoned, when they’d gone in, after all. Maybe some poor old squatter or two had gotten trapped in the fray, but he could leave that to rescue services. He was a soldier, not a firefighter, after all.

Though he supposed the only difference at this point was the gun he carried.

Or did carry- where the fuck was his gun?

Leaning Rudy down onto his legs, bloodied head pressed against his knees, he fumbled his hands across his vest, searching for his holster.

When he found it, his fingers wrapped around nothing but air. Great. How much equipment had he lost today now? He wondered how much that would cost him. It wasn’t like this stuff was dirt cheap after all.

Guess he was a fireman after all.

Resigning himself to his new job, he continued dragging his friend down the corridor to safety.

Okay, so scratch that previous thought.

The culprits were most definitely running around this place like scattered rats.

He didn’t know how many, or where they were, but he could hear their voices echoed in the remains around him. Murmured Spanish, whispers, laughter, jokes, words he couldn’t make out. Rudy was still unconscious in his arms, helpless. He still didn’t have a gun, defenceless. Not to mention the building was still wobbling around them, threatening to come down atop them with every step he took.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Had they seen them come in here? Had they set those bombs off? Had this been a trap laid out for Los Vaqueros that he had just, like his usual self, gotten messed up in? Or was this cartel related? A personal hit on him? Or Rudy?

Was Graves back to haunt him once more?

He had so many questions, yet so little time. He knew it would only be so long before they caught on his trail in the dust, so long before he would finally come eye-to-eye with these madmen stupid enough to come back into a destroyed building to hunt down two measly soldiers.

Especially when one was already halfway into the golden gates. It was pathetic, really.

Rodolfo just had to take this moment to stir, of course, because why wouldn’t he?

He groaned loudly in the silence, his head shaking back and forth as he came to. Soap was tempted to shove a hand in the man’s mouth to shut him up, but he thought against it, instead dragging them both into the nearest room. Better to hunker down and hide rather than keep going at this point.

Even if he was worried about the building collapsing on them, it didn’t overrule the fact they were being hunted like vermin in the crumbling walls.

He could hear voices getting closer, footsteps beginning to echo throughout the building that weren’t his own as he settled him and Rudy down under a nearby surviving desk. This room must have been an office. Had to have been. At least it worked as a hiding spot.

Rudy blinked, brown eyes half-glazed with confusion as he peered around them both, taking in their huddled space. He had to have a concussion, no doubt. That’s why it had been so difficult to wake him. “So-ap?”

He pressed a finger to his own lips, and Rudy fell silent in understanding, still incredibly confused. He could tell by the man’s furrowed brows, and how his lips pursed, thinking.

Soap prayed he kept his thoughts to his own mind, because the voices were now just outside their room. Loud and abrasive.

“You sure you heard something down this way?”

“Definitely, man, I’m telling you!”

“I don’t think I quite believe you, Andres.”

“No, no, he’s right, look.”

They must have spotted the trail left in their wake. He prayed to a God he no longer believed in that they’d go the opposite way. Rudy’s legs must have disturbed his own footprints a little, right? Maybe it would be impossible to tell which way they went.

“They’re nearby, that’s for sure.” One murmured, Andres, he believed. “Split up?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait-” The third called out, worried, “What about the others?”

“The other soldiers?”

“Yeah. In the other buildings. You guys saw ‘em too, right?”

“Course we did, Camila. We find these two fuckers then we go for them, alright?”

“That’s a stupid plan, Barto. One of them was the Ghost! Even I know who that is!”

Maybe they’d just argue forever. Soap hoped they would. If they were right, and his Spanish was correct, the others were fine. Only this building had explosives in; they hadn’t expected the soldiers to split up, thank the stars for Alejandro.

It meant rescue could very much be around the corner. He just had to hold on. Just had to keep Rudy alive. That wasn’t so much to ask for, he supposed.

It was Camila who found them.

Her gun was the first thing he saw, actually.

She was a young woman- in fact, Soap would prefer to say young girl. She was no woman, she didn’t look a day past thirteen, yet she had tattoos, piercings, and a mean yet frantic look about her.

The muzzle of her gun aimed directly at his head, before swapping down to where Rudy’s lay against his chest, before back up at him. “Guys!” She called out, “I found them!”

The two boys had rushed over only seconds later. Men, actually. They were very much men, unlike their young counterpart.

Balto had a cruel smile stretched across his lips. “Looks like only one of you made it, hmm?”

Rudy was still breathing, he’d just fallen unconscious again, and yet this man thought… Yeah, you know what? Soap could work with that.

Pushing Rudy away from him, he held in a wince as the man flopped onto the cold floor, practically corpse-like, save from the faintest of breathing. If he could make them think he was dead, they wouldn’t shoot him.

He could save Rodolfo, at least. He could die peacefully then.

The sudden movement startled Camila, who backed up, gun still held in a tight, white knuckled grip. Balto simply grinned, and the other one, Andres, well he simply watched, tight-lipped. They all had their hands on their guns, holstered or not.

His mouth dried uncomfortably, but he forced his voice out. “Are you the pricks that did this?”

Balto chuckled, gesturing to Rodolfo. Andres moved, grabbing the soldier and tugging his body out of the way, dumping him across the room. Soap’s eyes followed frantically, as much as he tried not to show it.

Now he was alone, trapped under a desk, with a gun at his face and help far, far away. Great.

“Are you Sergeant Mactavish?”

He snarled. “What’s it to you?”

Balto shrugged, “Nothing. We don’t want you. We’re looking for an ‘Alejandro Vargas’. You know him? Is he here?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you that?”

His gun unholstered easily, aiming directly onto Soap’s forehead. “Do you not want to live, little boy?” He laughed, before nodding at the lump that was Rudy in the corner behind him, “Or do you want to join Mr Parra over there?”

He swallowed harshly. “He’s here.”

“Good.” The man purred. “Get him up. Let’s go meet him, shall we?”

Leaving Rodolfo behind left a bad taste in his mouth.

The man was barely hanging on, with injuries Soap didn’t know the full extent of, and now he had no one to watch over him, in some dusty room in the middle of a collapsing building.

He’ll be okay, he’ll be okay.

“Move it, gringo.” A shove to his back had pain flaring up his spine. Fuck. He hissed, and the hands returned, shoving him again. “That hurt, sweetheart?”

Fucking sweetheart. Really? Two could play at that game. “Nope.” He popped his lips on the p, grinning. He’d turn around to face the person who dared pet-name him, but his neck was in so much pain he worried it’d snap clean off. “Thanks for the concern, though, love.”

The cock of a gun silenced him. Unfunny, all-too-serious bastards.

“What exactly are you going to do, once we find Alejandro?” He asked aloud as he walked, or more stumbled down corridor after corridor towards the presumed exit. “You want an autograph or something?”

Another shove. Pain once more turned his legs to jelly. He grunted. “Fine, fine, I’ll shut up.”

“But you don’t.” Balto huffed, “Just shut the fuck up. Why would we tell you what we want with him?”

He bit his tongue before his big mouth said something he’d regret, an insult resting heavily against his closed lips. He wasn’t about to get shot for something so stupid. Not when they clearly didn’t need him.

Not when he was the only person who knew Rodolfo was still alive.

“Good boy.”

Light came sooner than he’d expected from a massive hole in the building’s exterior wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, head pounding. Blunt nails on the back of his neck steadied him as he stumbled forward, scratching at his skin to keep ahold of him. The cold metal of a gun pressed against his temple. His shoes touched grass as he was hauled out fully into the open.

“Soap!”

He wheezed, fumbling to right his legs under him, blinking back waves of agony as he fought to simply see. When had seeing become so damn hard?

“Ah, Captain Price!” Balto called out from beside him, “Glad to finally meet you! I’ve heard a lot of good things”

“Where’s Rodolfo!” That was Alejandro snarling like a feral beast. Soap was trying his best to blink away the harshness of the sun, and his efforts rewarded him with a blurred, far away view of the Los Vaqueros. Price was next to him, and next to him was Ghost. Next to him, Gaz.

“I swear to God, if you fuckers-”

“He’s dead.” Balto shrugged, grinning. Soap gulped at the look that tore through Alejandro’s face at the news. Like his whole world had come crashing down beneath him. “Didn’t survive the explosion. I thought you trained your men better than that, compadre?”

“We are not friends.”

“Ah, but we were once, weren’t we Colonel?”

Great, more lore. More drama. Soap could barely keep track of what was going on five minutes ago, let alone now.

“I will hang you.” Alejandro threatened coldly, “I’ll tear you limb from fucking limb, Balto-”

“What?” The man fluttered his eyelashes innocently. Soap felt the hand adjust against his neck. “It wasn’t me who killed him!”

“Soap.” Price barked out, disregarding the arguing men, “You alright, son?”

He wet his lips. His voice was hoarse and raspy, and he wasn’t even sure Price heard him from all the way across. “I’m fine.”

Hands tightened against his neck, choking him. He spluttered, coughing. “But he won’t be unless I get what I want.”

“And what do you want, exactly?” That was Ghost this time. His voice was deep and threatening. At least, to everyone else. Soap knew the man was a big softie at heart. Especially for him.

“Alejandro. They pay big money for you, in America, you know that?”

“Unfortunately.” Alejandro’s eyes darkened.

The hand loosened just enough for him to catch a breath. “So?” Balto’s voice curled against his cheek, waiting. The gun was on his other cheek, muzzle pressed into the dusty flesh. “What’ll it be?”

There was silence, for a moment.

It felt, almost, like a cowboy standoff from an old Western. He swore he could almost hear the tell-tale music in the background. The thudding of horse-hooves, the slow-mo sound of the first gunshot-

Balto dropped dead right beside him.

The hand holding him meant that he, too, was dragged downwards, awkwardly flopping against the grassy floor as bullets rang out around him. His back ached horribly, and he was reminded all too clearly of the initial explosion as he clutched at his neck with shaking hands.

At least this time there was no glass.

If he had half the mind, he might’ve grabbed the fallen gun and joined in himself, but before he could even begin to think about that, the moment was over, and the field was silent.

“Rudy-!”

Rudy?

Soap blinked open his eyes.

Yeah that was Rudy alright.

Sure enough, at the mouth of the hole blown into the building was none other than Rodolfo Parra, smoking gun in hand and blood streaming down past his broken nose onto his goofily grinning teeth, staining white red. Very much alive, contrary to popular belief.

Of course Soap knew that. But he was still just as relieved to see the man as anyone else.

Except maybe Alejandro. The way the Colonel practically teleported over to his Sergeant was a little unnerving, if he was honest.

“You alright, love?”

Ghost had teleported almost as quickly to his own side, a worried hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly. Concerned brown eyes stared through his soul; gloved hands moved to touch his bloodied, dusty head, searching for any trace of a gunshot wound. Any trace of inflicted injury beyond what was already fucked up.

Was he alright?

Did Ghost really just ask that?

He sighed grumpily. "What do you think?"

Ghost laughed, "I think you'll live."

This one was one of the hardest prompts to complete. I HATED writing the majority of this, which is unusual. It's been my least favourite so far haha.

Though I'd like to come back to it, I think it was just writers block. Since I always enjoy writing Rudy (sorry Soap, I just prefer writing Rudy lmao)

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