**Nightmares in Kabul**

Prompt: Gunsmith cats fanfiction rally has the same nightmare for the third night in a row in the dream she’s walking through Kabul when she was a marine in Afghanistan when she sees a young boy

Rally Vincent jolted awake, her heart pounding against her ribcage like a drum. The oppressive darkness of her room felt heavy, much like the weight of her memories. Three nights in a row, the same nightmare had plagued her: a vivid landscape of dusty streets, the echo of gunfire, and the ghost of a past that refused to be buried. She lay back against her pillow, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream, but it clung to her like smoke. In her mind's eye, she could still see the sun setting behind the jagged mountains of Kabul, painting the sky a blood-red hue that felt all too fitting for her memories of war. As a marine, she'd faced the harsh realities of combat, but nothing haunted her more than the boy she had seen. In the dream, she walked through the chaotic streets, her boots crunching against shards of glass and debris. She could hear the distant whispers of locals alongside the clash of firearms, an unsettling symphony that filled her with dread. Then, in the midst of the chaos, she spotted him—a young boy, perhaps eight or nine years old, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He was barefoot, dirty clothes hanging loosely from his thin frame, but there was a spark in his gaze that resonated with her. Rally had often excelled under pressure, trained to react swiftly and without hesitation. Yet in that moment, as she locked eyes with the boy, she felt a tug in her heart. He stood alone, lost in a world that had forgotten him. The dream shifted, and Rally felt the weight of her rifle slung across her chest, her military uniform heavy and uncomfortable. She recalled feeling an urgent need to protect him. Without thinking, she approached, but before she could reach him, the sounds of gunfire erupted nearby. The boy's eyes widened in terror, and Rally’s instinct kicked in—she dove towards him, a protective armor against the chaos that surrounded them. Each night it ended the same—gunfire, explosions, and the haunting cry of the boy's voice as he screamed. “Help me!” She would wake up before she could reach him, the dream dissolving like smoke before her understanding. The weight of it all churned in her gut; she had been trained for combat, to neutralize threats, but how could she have saved him when the specter of war engulfed them both? On the fourth morning of sleeplessness, Rally decided she could not endure this torment any longer. The following day, she called her friend and former comrade, Beanbandit. The bright-haired, easy-going man always had a way of cutting through her heavy mood with jokes and laughter. But there was something deeper he understood—he too had served and faced his own demons. Over coffee in their usual diner, she opened up about her dreams, her fears, and the boy who haunted her. Bean listened, brow furrowed, despite the laughter of other patrons floating around them. "You're not alone anymore, Rally. You know that, right? You can let this out.” She nodded, hesitant but grateful for his unwavering support. “I just keep thinking… What if I could go back? What if I could save him?” “Nightmares are just manifestations of our past,” Bean said, turning serious. “But maybe it’s time to confront them. Instead of running away, why don’t you imagine a different ending? You have the power to change it.” Inspired by his words, Rally took a deep breath, considering his idea. She began to write down her feelings, sketching out the dream as if it were a battle plan. With each word, she reframed the chaos into something manageable. With the nights approaching once more, she resolved to rewrite her fate. That night, she fell asleep, armed not just with the weight of her memories but with the intent to change them. She found herself back in Kabul, standing amidst the familiar rubble and heartache. But this time, the air didn’t suffocate her; it felt alive. She took a step towards the boy watching her from the shadows, and this time, she was resolved. “I’m here,” she called out, voice steady, filled with resolve. The boy’s eyes locked onto hers, fear slowly evaporating as she continued to walk forward. “I’m coming to help you. You’re not alone.” As she drew closer, the dream transformed. The air was still thick with tension, but she felt a surge of bravery pulsing through her veins. No explosions tore through the silence this time, no gunfire split the night. Rally reached out a hand toward the boy, her heart racing in anticipation. The boy reached back, and in that moment of connection, something shifted. The chaos faded, replaced by a profound stillness. Rally knelt before him, just as she had in her nightmares, but her mind was clear, her heart resolute. “It's going to be okay,” she assured him, her voice steady. With her touch, she felt warmth ripple through her body; her fears became ink that bled from her soul onto the fabric of the dream. She whispered, “You’re safe now.” In an instant, the dream changed entirely. Instead of the noise and horror of war, she envisioned a bright sunlight streaming through the streets of Kabul, children laughing and playing, the signs of life that so often went unnoticed in the chaos of conflict. The boy smiled, a soft, trusting smile that lit up his face. “I’m not afraid anymore,” he said, and Rally realized that she too was beginning to feel that fear lift away. When Rally awoke the next morning, the shadows of nightmares still lingered, but they felt less suffocating, less consuming. She knew the journey ahead would still be fraught with challenges and memories, but with Bean's words echoing in her mind, she felt hope blooming. The loss might never wholly fade, but she was ready to be a narrative architect of her past, wielding her dreams as a way to heal. As she prepared for another day, she smiled softly to herself. Rally Vincent was no longer haunted—she was making peace.