For a moment, in his terror, Sonny didn't know where he was. Hell, he didn't even know his own name! All he could think of was Stone, Stone, where was Stone?

Then his frantic gaze landed on a framed photo of the kids, and he remembered: it was 2010, not the nineties. Stone was gone. Stone had been gone for over a decade.

Damn, since when have I dreamed about him? The last time Sonny could remember having a nightmare this bad was right before…well, right before Michael had been shot, except that time it had been little Robin curled up by Stone, and Sonny repeating the words "He's dead? He's dead."

Or was that the last dream? Shakily, Sonny got up and went into the bathroom. As he splashed cold water from the faucet onto his stinging eyes, he struggled to remember the other dream.

Suddenly, a voice came to mind, soon followed by another: "If I had a son, I would never turn my back on him!" "Sonny, he's your son! You just shot your own son!" His own promise followed by his own betrayal. Sonny cursed and rubbed his face with a towel until it felt raw. The night before he had shot Dante, not knowing that he was trying to kill his own child, he had tossed and turned more than he had in years. In his tortured dreams, Stone had been upstairs, dying, and Sonny had been cursing the people who had abandoned the boy to his fate. That night, like this one, he had woken up screaming bloody murder; it had taken him almost an hour to calm himself down, and even then he had gone to sleep with an old photo of him and Brenda, Robin and Stone all laughing and having a good time.

Sonny's legs were still trembling. Cussing, he stumbled back into his bedroom and flicked on a light. Then he tore apart his closet looking for the one thing that might get him to sleep. Where, where, where did I put it? He had almost worked himself up to a frenzy when, by chance, his hand hit what he was looking for. Gingerly, reverently, Sonny pulled the picture frame out of his closet and staggered backwards onto his bed.

"Hey, Stone," Sonny whispered thickly. "Hey, brother." There was Stone, grinning up at him from behind the glass frame. Instinctively, Sonny felt himself smiling back. "Not that I'm crazy or anything, y'know, talking to your picture…but I figure, somehow, somewhere…you're hearing me."

Sonny's pounding heart was finally slowing down. With a sigh, he fell back onto his pillow with Stone's picture clutched to his chest. The dream was slipping away with the fear, but the regret was staying. The regret always stayed. Sonny had just learned, from years and years of killing and losing, to stamp it down with other weaknesses like pain and remorse.

Slowly, his eyelids started to droop shut. "Love you, man," he mumbled to where Stone was resting against his heart. "Miss you…"

Then the phone rang. "Goddamn! Three in the morning," Sonny groused. "What—who the hell…" With a yawn, he picked up the phone by his bed and glanced at the caller ID with a frown.

"What…Carly? Carly, what's up?"

"Sonny…" The fear that had melted away rushed back through Sonny at the tears in Carly's voice. "Sonny…"

"Carly, you got to talk to me, all right? What is it?" Sonny said urgently.

"Sonny, it's…it's Morgan…an accident…he's at the hospital! Sonny, Morgan's hurt! He's…"

"Oh my God." Stone's photograph slipped from between Sonny's numb fingers and bounced onto the mattress. "What—what kind of an accident? Is Morgan going to be okay?"

"Car…I don't know, they won't let me see him! Please, Sonny, come on!"

"I'll be right there!" Sonny pressed the end button; then, with a furious cry, he threw the phone across the room, where it hit the wall and smashed into pieces. He pulled on some clothes without much thought as to what he was wearing and managed to stumble halfway down the stairs before he even realized what he was doing. "Max! Milo!"

The brothers staggered into the hallway exhaustedly. "Yeah, boss?"

Sonny's thumb was hovering over the "1" on his cell phone. "Morgan was in a car crash. I got to get to the hospital!"

In moments, Sonny was in the limo. Finally, he let his thumb drop onto the "1". "Jason?"

"Sonny, Morgan was in a crash—"

"I know!" Sonny snapped. "Are you at the hospital?"

There was silence for a moment; Sonny could almost imagine Jason nodding before he realized that Sonny couldn't see him. "Yeah. Sonny, Morgan's—hurry." Jason's voice was strained. With a prickle of fear, Sonny realized that his level-headed enforcer—his friend—was perilously close to tears. "He's in the OR."

Sonny's stomach twisted at the thought of his little boy under the scalpel. "I'm coming!"

As the limo pulled up to the hospital, Sonny had to duck into the bushes for a moment and vomit. He had just realized that, once again, Stone had come to him when he was about to lose his son.