Discipline

General Hospital

Chapter thirty

A/n: Well, here we are, the last chapter. I want to thank all of the kind and adamant reviewers-you guys truly kept me going. This was such a different and interesting story to write, and I hope you readers enjoyed this story as I much as I did.

May 28th is Memorial Day, and so, for all those in the Armed Forces, I say thank you.

Sometimes, having a crazy girlfriend really got to Sonny Corinthos. Well, he shouldn't say crazy. By all accounts, he himself was 'crazy'. Kate Howard was just…

Insane? No, Connie Falconeri was insane. Kate Howard was troubled, weak, fragile…utterly in love with him. Kate Howard would never betray him the way that Connie Falconeri did.

Connie, Kate, the whole Dissociative Identiy Disorder thing was hard to wrap his mind around. D.I.D., Bipolar, and now Sonny's own son, Morgan, was suffering from some kind of mental illness. Days earlier, his frantic ex-wife, Carly, had called him and explained the damage. And, of course, she had called to accuse him.

It was always his fault with her, wasn't it? If Sonny hadn't attempted to kill Jax, Carly wouldn't have felt obligated to send Morgan away, thus rendering him of any disorder. So yes, this was his entire fault. To which Sonny promptly reminded her that it was she that wanted Jax out of the picture to protect her daughter. Carly promptly hung up.

Besides, Sonny Corinthos did not need his ex-wife to tell him things he already knew. Of course he felt responsible about what Morgan was going through. After all, it was because of him that Carly sent Morgan away in the first place, which angered Sonny. He couldn't be trusted to keep his son safe, is that what Carly was saying?

"Boss," Milo poked his head in the door. Sonny looked up, his train of thought lost. Milo seemed to know that he had interrupted Sonny, and cleared his throat sheepishly.

"Your son's here."

"Which son?"

"Morgan, sir."

"Morgan?" Sonny repeated. Speak of the devil. "Bring him in."

"Dad," Morgan brushed past Milo immediately, as if he had been close behind all along. "Dad-"

"What?" Sonny stood up hastily. "What's wrong?"

"Dad," Morgan took in a deep breath, trying desperately to control his shaking hands. "Just…listen. I've got to tell you something, and it's really important but just," Morgan sighed. "Don't say anything, okay?"

"Is this about your illness?" Sonny asked. Morgan stopped, frowning.

"My what?"

"You know, your disorder." Sonny shrugged. "Your mother told me, son."

"Oh, um, I guess-"

"Because I know how you feel son, I really do. I und-"

"No, you don't know how I feel!" Morgan shouted, his voice rising above the rooftops. "You don't know the first thing about me!"

"Son-"

"I thought you were listening?" Morgan retorted, before slipping into a chair. He closed his eyes and tried to recollect himself.

"You don't know how I feel because I was sent away because of you. You don't know what happened when I was away at school."

"I assume that…whatever happened was private-"

"When I was at school, Dad, Mom changed my name to Benson. She thought that the students at school would bother me if they knew I was the son of a mob-boss."

"I resp-"

"You're not listening. It didn't work. The cadets, they eventually found out. They found other ways to make fun of me. I came to school halfway through the year, I was fresh meat. No one understood me and I didn't try to understand them. And then, another kid came.

"His name was Vinny Triste. Italian kid, real New Yorker. He was pretty shy…really shy, actually. The other cadets, they loved it. They could beat him up or…I don't know, do whatever they wanted to him, and he wouldn't say a thing, Dad. Not one word. He only had one friend.

"I was that friend. I was the only one he talked to. Other kids bothered him about his height, how weak he was, how skinny he was, how he got to military school in the first place…everything. I don't think he was ever called by his actual first name, except when I was talking to him.

"I understood him, and he understood me. He was a couple years younger, but that was all right. It was like, finally, I was the older brother. I was taking care of someone. It was nice."

"Uh," Morgan sniffed. "Right before I left for military school, Michael, Krissy and Molly all chipped in to get me a signed baseball card of my favorite player."

"Mickey Mantle," Sonny remembered fondly.

"Reggie Jackson." Morgan corrected. And awkward silence fell over the two. "Anyway, I took this card wherever I went. It was always in my pocket, like a good luck charm. I almost lost it, once, and Vinny and I spent forever trying to get it back. Some boys nicked it from me. Well, that doesn't matter anymore, but we got the card back. Vinny signed the back of the card when I wasn't looking.

"At first, I was furious at him for 'ruining my card'. But, now-" Morgan stopped, swallowing a painful lump in his throat. "Now, I'm glad he did.

"Thing was, Dad, I got bigger. I got stronger over the years, I could defend myself the way Jason taught Michael to defend himself and…well, kids stopped bothering me, save a few. But Vinny, oh, my best friend, he never changed. He stayed the same. Like a rock. That gave the other cadets all the ammunition they needed to keep pushin' him around until…until he couldn't take it anymore.

"I don't…I don't blame the cadets because they all come from pretty tough backgrounds, just like Vinny, and maybe pushin' smaller guys around was the only way they knew how to prove to themselves and others they were important…I don't know. The only person I blame is myself—I didn't get there in time.

"One night, Dad, Vinny got a gun and he…he…" Morgan bit his lip, his voice cracked. His hands shook. "Vinny's dead."

Sonny didn't say anything. Morgan wished he would. Morgan wished his father could say something to make everything better, to make him feel like he had years before, when Vinny Triste was not in his life and all he thought about was the next Yankee game and endless homework.

"Vinny shot himself, and he's dead, and I watched it all. And now, I can't let it go. Gosh, Dad, every day is the same for me. Wake up after countless nightmares of that night, try to get through the day, try to sleep, and start the cycle all over again. And I get so angry. All the time. I wish I could let it go, I wish I could forget the past, live for the future, all that crap. But I can't, Dad, I can hardly get out of bed. I'm so mad and I'm so done with it.

"People that I talk to, that know you, they're quick to point the finger at you. They want you to pay, to take responsibility for what I've become. But I c-can't blame you. I already blame myself. I can hardly look in the mirror without knowing that I could have done something to prevent Vinny's d-death. So, no, I don't…" Morgan swallowed down the lump again, his brows furrowed together. He could hear his father's ragged breaths across from him.

It was time to leave.

"I forgive you." Morgan looked up. "I forgive you."

Walking into Kelly's late that night; Morgan was able to catch Shawn Butler before he closed up the diner.

"Shawn," he thought aloud, taking a seat in the nearest chair. "Did you ever have ASD?"

Shawn looked up casually. "Sure," he shrugged.

"No, I mean, were you diagnosed with ASD before you were diagnosed with PTSD?"

Shawn came over to sit next to the curious, young man. "When I was diagnosed, I had let my PTSD control me for far too long. It was…months after what happened, and I still hadn't received the help I needed. Luckily, my sisters gave me a nudge in the right direction."

"Do you think I will be diagnosed with PTSD?" Morgan whispered, his voice small.

"Time will tell," Shawn spoke wisely. "We have to be patient."

Morgan knew Shawn was right, and he was glad to have someone living so close to him dealing with the same sort of thing Morgan was dealing with.

Above them, someone slammed their apartment door. The sound resonated throughout the building, and rang through Morgan's ears. A gun shot. Someone was shooting guns. Someone was shooting Vinny.

"Easy, easy," Shawn settled the boy down. "Just a door."

"Oh, damn!" Morgan cursed, slowing removing his hands from his ears. "Doesn't that bother you?" He exclaimed.

"Yes," Shawn nodded. "Yes."

Morgan groaned, placing his head in his hands. He breathed in and out, in and out, until he felt like he was okay to look up again. When he did, Shawn was still there, staring calmly at him with dark, steady eyes.

"Does Posttraumatic Stress Disorder ever go away?" Morgan asked just as quietly as before. "Will I ever be normal again?"

Shawn was quiet. He patted Morgan on the back and smiled softly. "Everybody is different, Morgan. Everyone deals with trauma in their own ways."

"Why?" Morgan finally spoke his thoughts. "Why me? Why this?"

"God's testing you." Shawn's voice was deep and comforting. "He wants to make sure you're listening." He let the words settle in to the young man. They were too much alike.

"Come, let's go for a walk."

And walk they did. They walked through the neighborhoods, their only trail a mere sidewalk. They walked past buildings and cars and everything in between. The walked until morning broke the sky, the two men alone with their thoughts. They walked until they reached a small park, where the cool grass was wet with dew and trees blanketed the scene.

Shawn stopped long enough to stare out at the rising sun, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Morgan stopped a little behind him, watching Shawn Butler more than the sight of early morning.

Shawn had Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, yet he was happy. He seemed genuinely content with his life. Morgan never would have guessed something was wrong with Shawn if the man hadn't brought it up himself.

And all this, about Vinny and school and the card…he was glad he told his father. Morgan was happy his father knew. So he was happy about one thing.

He was glad that he was able to see Jax, if just for a brief time.

He was glad that he was the one that brought Jax and Josslynn back together.

He was glad that, until the last part, he got to play ball with T.J. and Michael.

He was glad that his brother and sister-in-law took him to a Yankee game.

He was glad that Shawn was here.

Shawn was fine.

Morgan would be, too.

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