Hey guys so I told you that chapter 21 on my Secrets can Kill sisterfic was the last BUT I lied...

It's not very long but I had to tie it up so I could post my first chapter for the sequel!

Enjoy!

and look for the Sequel!

Ch. 22 The End

With Sam at the wheel, Dean riding shotgun and an occupied quilt covering the backseat, they drove out of town. By now it was nearly five in the morning. Neither one of them had said a word. They were headed west, had crossed the state line a while back. The quilt in the backseat was soaked through with blood. At five thirty, as the graying sun rose over the still dawn and asphalt continued to pass uninterrupted beneath their wheels, Sam spoke.

"Dean," he murmured. Dean said nothing.

"Where should we go?" he asked.

And a while after that, "We can't drive forever." Dean didn't respond, but he looked away and Sam respectfully neglected to see the fresh streaks of tears mixed with the blood - not his own – on Dean's face.

Sam pulled over. They were in the middle of nowhere, sun slanting in through the windows onto their backseat cargo. Sam thought about cars passing and people looking in and seeing so much blood and probably calling the police. Except people didn't look at each other on the road, not anymore. They were safe.

"What are we supposed to do?" Sam murmured, not quite looking at Dean.

Dean opened his mouth but no sound came out. After a couple of tries, he said, "I won't burn her. I just won't…I cant."

Sam's jaw went tight and he looked out the driver-side window again. "No, I agree." he said at last.

"Her soul's gonna need a home to come back to." Sam's insides sank, icy. "Don't think it, Dean."

"Don't tell me what to do, Sam." Dean said, all quiet and calm. "I'll do what I need to and no more."

Sam shook his head hard, refusing to hear a word Dean said. His knuckles were bone-colored where they gripped the wheel. "No, Dean. I won't let you. If anyone is gonna do this it's me. It was my fault. "

"Listen to me -"

"No," Sam thundered.

Minutes passed in silence.

When Dean spoke at last, it was the first time Sam had heard unsteadiness in his voice. "We'll bury her…" he conceded. "If there's no way to...she deserves that honor, at least. Not salted and burned." Like a monster hung unspoken at the end.

Sam closed his eyes and nodded once. He ought to be tougher about this, but he couldn't. He wasn't their father, though they might have wished he was. Sam, whatever was crawling within Sam, was beyond him. He knew it was a mistake and a weakness but the hurt was too new and accountability seemed to crumble in the face of grief.

Sam fired the engine again and made a sharp left off the road, into the fallow field next to it. Not too far in the distance there was a line of slim-trunked pine trees. The car bumped and jerked over the uneven ground and Sam kept his eyes shut against the grim temptation to look at the matching movements of the body in the backseat.

They stopped at the tree line. Sam threw open his door and got out; Dean followed more slowly. Sam stood with his eyes mostly closed, face pointed towards the sky, away from the rising sun.

Dean broke the stillness of the moment by opening the back door. Between them they maneuvered the body out of the car and laid it out. Sam started into the woods without a word. Dean took a step after him, but the gravity of the dead drew him back. He couldn't leave the body alone. So he sat sideways on the driver's seat, the door open, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands, studying the patterns of interlocking geometric shapes on the stained, stolen blanket.

Ten minutes later, Sam reemerged from the woods. If his eyes were redder than before, Dean didn't comment on it.

"There's a clearing not far in," Sam mumbled, trying to cover the hoarseness in his voice. He didn't look at Dean and went straight for the covered body. Dean helped him lift it, again on the foot end, and they navigated the woods for a couple of minutes, breath strangely loud in the still air. No birds sang, and only the occasional rustle betrayed life in the undergrowth. Sam straightened and wiped sweat from his forehead. "There are shovels in the trunk," he said, almost offhandedly. He started back the way they had come. When he had come back, Dean had changed Valerie's bloody shirt to his black undershirt. Dean kneeled down next to Valerie's body, and removed his amulet necklace that Sam had given him when they were younger, and he placed it around Valerie's neck.

"Dean" Sam murmured.

"Okay…" Together they lowered their baby sister into the ground, ending up kneeling by the open grave. Sam settled his sister's head gently on the quilt padding. Dean's face abruptly bolted up and he turned away, clasping his hand over his eyes. His shoulders moved with uneven tremors, but no sound emerged. He looked off into the trees, swallowing down the scream that wanted out; it was so close his tongue ached with it and he felt it in his sinuses, echoing silently into his brain and back down to the lungs. For a moment he couldn't breathe. Somehow they managed to pat the dirt down over her lifeless body, until she was gone.

That night, they stayed at a hotel couple hours out. Dean downed the last mouthful-bottle of vodka, and slept for the first time in thirty hours. Sam just sat there, thinking, 'this is my entire fault. She made the deal to save me, and now, she's dead. Gone. And I'm here, alive. And, Dean. Dean will never be the same again.