Rated:M

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like writing about them

Dead Or Alive

by: Danigirl

Chapter Two

I wake up in the morning, And I raise my weary head
I've got an old coat for a pillow, And the earth was last night's bed
I don't know where I'm going, Only God knows where I've been
I'm a devil on the run
A six gun lover
A candle in the wind

Bon Jovi- Blaze of Glory

Everything was the same, yet different.

He didn't know how long he stood there in the yard holding his mother in his arms, listening to her murmur happily and feeling the wetness from her tears against his cheek. How long had it been since he'd allowed anyone close enough to touch him with affection? He couldn't recall. How long had it been since he'd dared to let this dead thing beating in his chest feel anything other than guilt or rage?

It had been a risk coming back here and truthfully he hadn't expected a warm reception. A couple of nights ago, he had been bedding down somewhere in Colorado and he had looked up into the stars and wondered what the hell to do next.

Somehow Matos had framed him for the Corinthos' murders, though how he managed that Jason still was having trouble figuring out. Enough money and enough fear were all that Matos needed to get Jason Morgan on the list of wanted men.

Hell he had skirted the line of gunslinger and murderer for ten years now. It wasn't a surprise that the law was eager to bring him in. His reputation for shooting first, fast and accurate, and not giving a damned about the questions later, might have been laurelled if he had been one of those Rangers, but a man who made his living by his gun was frowned upon in polite company.

It had been a three day trip through hell getting out of Texas. Riding hard and looking over his shoulder had been his only hope until he crossed over into Colorado. Only then had he risked stopping in a town for supplies, a rest for Jilly and a night in a bed. As soon as the sun set a day later he had headed out, unsure of his destination. Heading up into Canada had seemed like a good idea and perhaps he would have done just that if he hadn't seen that herd of wild mustangs.

It was just a small one, and almost unheard of in this part of the country. A stallion and several mares, a few colts struggling to keep up and he'd looked at them in the same wonder that he'd always felt. Remembered the lessons his mother had imparted on him.

"Gentling a horse doesn't mean breaking his spirit", she would tell him as he sat on the edge of the fence watching her work to gain the respect of a wild horse. The little dance of trust between the two of them was probably the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. By the time she was done, that horse would be eating from her hand like a puppy and she never once used force or imposed her will on the animal.

"If you break their spirit, then where is the room for loyalty, affection? All living things are capable of affection," she had murmured as she brushed a hand down the side of a stubborn mare.

And watching these horses racing across the land, he wondered about her. He hadn't sent her a letter in more than six months, not since he decided to stay on at the Diamond C. That shamed him, because his mother didn't deserve such disrespect.

So Jason altered his plans, he would stop in Redemption for a few days. The irony too obvious to ignore. There would never be any redemption for him. Forgiveness would never be granted for his transgressions.

As much as he wanted to go after Matos for killing Sonny and Lily, those two innocent children, he couldn't with the law behind him. Maybe in a couple of years, if Matos hadn't found the other end of a bullet, Jason could hunt him down. No matter how much time passed he would never forget. Jason would never forget digging those four graves, especially that smallest one. Little Adella who had died before her life had truly begun. Matos would pay for what he did, if it was the last thing he did.

Yet before he left for Canada and an even greater exile, he wanted to see the family he had left behind one more time. When Jilly had crossed the last hill that led to the ranch house, and he saw that lone figure standing near the paddock, he'd known that it was his mother. He didn't need the knowledge that she was always the first one up, always going to tend to her horses at this time. His heart had pounded in his chest so hard that he was slightly lightheaded from the rush of blood and sensation of feeling almost alive for the first time since he'd left.

Then she was in his arms and all he knew was that she felt exactly the same.

Like home.

After guiding Jilly into the barn, he led her into an empty stall, groomed her, checking her shoes to make sure she hadn't picked up a stone and left feed and water. She had given him everything she had, never once letting him down. As he rubbed a hand along the side of her neck he had promised to give her a much needed rest.

The scent of hay and horses in the barn so familiar, that it almost felt like the other life he'd led for the past ten years was the dream and he was waking up. Only he knew it was just the opposite and this barn proved it. No, they were stables now. Evidently his mother had expanded the business and the large stables that housed at least twenty horses were so different than the five from before.

It had been their dream, to build something good with the horses, he felt guilty for abandoning that dream, but so damned proud that she had succeeded. Luke had the cattle, and that made Rose Creek wealthy, but it was always the horses that gave the ranch that Edward and Lila Morgan started its heart.

As he made his way up to the house, he watched some ranch hands start out of the bunkhouse then turned away. He didn't want to remember the time from before. How he would have joined them as they rode out to tend to the herd. How he would have slapped Harley, the foreman who had put him on his first horse, on the back and made some quick joke about how one day Rose Creek would be known for its horses and not for its beef.

Instead he climbed the three stairs of the porch and pulled open the screen, not even realizing that he was simply walking in as he used to, instead of knocking like the stranger he had become. Reluctantly, he pulled of the duster and laid it across the chair that sat next to the door.

The large living room looked the same, heavy masculine pine furniture made warm and inviting by his mother's hand. There was a new throw on the back of the couch, this one in a beautiful blend of red that he was certain she had knitted and there were new curtains at the windows. There was a big painting over the fireplace now, some almost mystical scene of the mountains behind the house.

Without thinking, he crossed the room to get a closer look, noting the initials at the corner and realizing his sister had painted this. He knew she was learning when before everything happened, but never had he thought she was this talented.

Jason looked up as heavy footsteps came from down the hall, knowing they weren't his mother's because she had went into the kitchen earlier saying she was going to start breakfast. Instead he was faced with his stepfather.

Luke Spencer looked almost the same as he had the first day his mother had introduced him. Black pants, black vest, black jacket, white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, all that was missing was a necktie and he would look like the gambler he was. Luke never made excuses for the man he was, or the fact that while he didn't know a damned thing about cattle, he sure as hell knew they made money. Luke was outspoken, blunt to the point of rudeness and comfortable in his skin. A man he had admired desperately as a child.

"So," he frowned running a hand over his hair. That much had changed, the man had a head of silver and grey hair cut short and blunt, instead of the light brown of his youth. "You finally decided to show your face again."

"Yes sir," Jason nodded respectfully.

He saw the movement coming long before Luke acted on it. Could have avoided it, if he wanted, but didn't. His hand actually jerked, ready to reach for the Colt strapped to his leg. The movement was so instinctual when physically threatened, it took a deliberate thought to stop his hand from following through. Even as the fist slammed into his jaw, he took it because it was nothing less than he deserved.

Jason took the stumble back, knowing that Luke needed that affirmation that he had actually hurt him. Licking the blood from his split lip, he looked back at the man who had loved him as if he were his blood. Jason had certainly been hit harder, with more intent to harm and he had always stood solidly and taken it without any reaction whatsoever. It was what made him the cold blooded killer that everyone feared. Nothing touched him. No pain crept into his heart because quite frankly no one believed he had one.

"Do you have any idea of what you put your mother through," he demanded through gritted teeth. Luke shoved him in the chest hard, before his fingers clenched in his shirt to drag him forward, "How many times she cried herself to sleep over you? And you just show up here, out of clear blue, looking like some good for nothing gunslinger, and expect a warm welcome?"

Evidently Luke's voice had risen, because his mother rushed into the room, tucking a white dishtowel into her apron. "That's enough," she shouted. Stepping in between them, she pried Luke's hand free then lifting her chin to meet Luke's icy gaze straight on. She glared at him and swung back around to slam a hand on her husband's chest. "Now stop it the two of. Behaving like a pair of stubborn mules."

"Darlin'," he began looking down at her with warm loving eyes, but she shook her head. Both of them knew that they were no match for Maggie May Morgan once her mind was made up about something .

"My son is home," she pointed out, "I don't know how long he's going to stay, and quite frankly I don't care right now. All that matters is that he's here."

"And everything else?" Luke asked, making Jason frown, "Does that not matter Maggie May?"

"It will be dealt with," she answered in a steely voice. One he recognized perfectly. When Maggie May Morgan got her Irish up, she wasn't a woman to be taken lightly. "Right now, I'm making my son breakfast that I'm perfectly willing to share with you. If you behave." Then she turned and pinned him with a fierce stare from bright blue eyes exactly like his own, "Have I made myself clear Jason?"

"Yes ma'am," the response slipped automatically from his lips before he could stop it.

"Good," she nodded, "Do you remember where your room is? There should be some old things of yours in the trunk in there. You can wash and come eat when you're done."

She had kept his things? He frowned before his eyes cut away from her loving face, not knowing how to accept that. Then he felt her hand on his cheek again, this time he managed not to flinch. He would have to get used to her touching him again, those memories slid back easily. His mother's casual touches of reassurance, that he had once thought nothing of, taken for granted, now treasured but didn't know how to accept.

"You always have a home here," she whispered before pressing a kiss to his cheek as if she had read his mind. "Now go wash up," she pushed him toward the hall and as he left he heard her say, "And you Mr. Spencer owe me a proper good morning."

Someone had drawn him a bath, probably one of his mother's housekeepers, for which he was grateful. He stripped out of the dirty clothes, feeling as if he was scraping off dirt from two states with him. Jason swept a hand through his hair, which felt damp and gritty and grimaced. He probably smelt like shit and his mother had thrown herself into his arms as if it were nothing.

Rather than dwell on those thoughts because they would only lead to guilt, he sank into the steaming hot water with a groan of relief and leaned back for a moment. How long could he stay here before ultimately putting his family at risk? He was good, he hadn't survived this long without knowing how to cover his tracks, so he knew he had at least a month before someone tracked him this far.

As much as he might want to stay, he couldn't take that chance. The shock was the fact that he wanted to consider staying. Yet, he had to move on before someone got this far. He scrubbed down and got out of the huge claw foot tub, wrapping a towel at his waist. It took a while to scrape off the weeks growth of hair on his face, but as he dried his skin with a towel, he realized how relived he was to have his face bare again.

Back in the bedroom of his youth, rather than dig around in the trunk, he looked in his own bag and pulled out another brown shirt and pants. He told that silent whisper in the back of his head that he wasn't a coward, just because he wasn't ready to face what could be in that trunk that sat so innocently against the foot of his old bed. Besides, the Jason Morgan from before was gone, and there was no sense in pretending otherwise.

Strapping on his guns was second nature, but as he fastened the buckle of his holster, he considered leaving them here in this room. Better sense prevailed. He understood the truth from the moment he had bought these guns. Once he started walking this path, there was no turning back. He was the man that he'd shaped himself into and nothing would ever change that.

Not even his mother's sweet smile.

Slow measured steps took him out of his room and down the hall to face the questions he knew were coming. Most he would try to answer, because his parents had a right to know. Others he wouldn't because his parents couldn't comprehend what had driven him these past years. Sometimes he couldn't understand what had haunted him. Robin's face as she died. His guilt. Or maybe he was at heart the killer his reputation claimed him to be.

When he entered the kitchen, he found Luke sitting to the table drinking from a cup and rubbing a comforting hand over the back of young boy who looked no older than nine or ten. Jason hadn't realized his mother had another child, then chided himself for his foolishness. He had been absent for ten years, he knew almost nothing about his family except for the memories he'd carried with him. Anything could have happened. He hadn't failed to notice his sister's absence.

"Jason?" He turned to his mother's bright voice, could hear that layer of nerves beneath it and wondered at the cause. "Well," she started and then stopped as if she had run out of words.

"Not so easy now is it," Luke drawled, then pinned him with an uncomfortable stare. "Boy runs off for ten years without a word, he should be man enough to face the consequences of his actions."

"Lucas," she bit out sharply with a frown creasing her brow. Then she took a deep breath and waved toward the table. "Come here Wyatt."

Jason watched the boy scoot back from the table, with a wary leer in his bright blue eyes but he went to her, slipping an arm around her waist as she pulled him tight. The boy looked so much like him when he was that age that it was uncanny. His hair was the same tawny brown, with the same tendency to lighten under the heat of the sun. He had the same rangy build beneath those blue pants and the lighter blue shirt, that had tortured him until he finally began filling out when he reached his teen years.

Something in his chest tugged hard, and he didn't understand why. Jason didn't know why he had the sudden need to touch this boy, as if testing if he were real or just his imagination. The boy peered up at him with something like a mixture of curiosity and anger before flicking his eyes away.

And then the bottom fell out of his world.

"Jason, this is Wyatt." His mother introduced carefully, "Your son."