So, some of you have been asking me to write the voicemail fix-it tag and I was just sort of stuck on it for awhile because it's been done so much and she well by better authors than me. But I really had to try my hand at it sooo here it is! In all it's angsty, weepy, glory!

Thanks SO MUCH to the lovely Lucyh95 for helping me formulate the idea to add Jack into the mix on this! You really got the ball rolling for me.

Let me know if it's woefully ooc. I thought it was a major enough discovery, and one that's been brooding for such a long time, to allow for some real brotherly bonding but...being the drama queen that I am I may have...ahem...overdone it just a tad.

Rated T for language.

Don't own the boys. If I did you can be sure I wouldn't have left this particular plot-hole unfilled.

Oh, one more thing. I've got a few other gaping open wounds to stitch up; wounds that the show-writers have let fester for far too long, and this fic will hopefully become my fix-it fic. So stay tuned for future installments.

Ok, I'll stop talking now.

I promise.

(Hi.)

I'm sorry.

"Sam?" Dean comes wandering into the main room of the bunker, looking for his brother.

Jack is sitting at the table hunched over a phone, his eyes mesmerized by something on the screen. He looks for all the world like an ordinary teenager, absorbed in some game or social media.

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes and says "Jack, where's Sam?" but Jack doesn't respond, still locked onto whatever flashing lights and sounds are happening on the device he's holding.

"Jaaack? Jack?!" Dean walks over and cautiously nudges the boy in the shoulder. He's still pretty wary around the nephillim, not wanting to scare him and accidentally kick-start doomsday.

Jack responds but barely. "I don't understand." He says, still not looking up from the phone in his hand. "Why does rearranging the candies in order cause them to explode? And why does the chocolate one electrocute everything? Also, why don't any of these candies have nougat?"

Dean stares at Jack like he's sprouted horns, a possibility which, now that he thinks of it, doesn't seem that unlikely in the near future.

"What?!" He snaps.

"Nougat." Says Jack looking up at Dean with serious, quizzical eyes. "It's a sticky, sweet, delicious kind of filling in candy bars. I tried one back at the police station and it's very good."

"Yeah, Jack. I fucking know what nougat is." Dean runs a hand over his mouth and tries to reign in his frustration. "What the hell are you even talking about?" There's a long pause where Dean and Jack just stare fixedly at each other. "I just explained." Jack says and turns the phone towards Dean. "It's some kind of entertainment application called Candy. Crush." He enunciates each word clearly. "I'm not sure what the point of it is exactly, but it's really shiny." He smiles, a silly, innocent smile and Dean realizes how much of a kid Jack still is.

"That's nice." Dean's losing whatever patience he had in the first place. "Where is Sam?"

"Oh yeah, Sam. He went out to get some supper. He said he was getting salads for him and me and a cheeseburger for you because you 'don't care about your body'." Jack does air quotes.

"So Sammy's trying to make you into a health nut too, huh?" Dean snickers. "You're not gonna like salad. I got news for ya, it doesn't taste like nougat."

"What does it taste like?" Jack squints and tilts his head with an expression that's remarkably like Cas.

"Picture slimy, flavorless, grass with nuts and berries mixed in."

Jack scowls. "Why would anyone want to eat that?"

"Why indeed, Jack." Dean nods. "Hey, where exactly did you get an iPhone anyway?"

"Sam leant it to me. He said I needed to familiarize myself with it because he's gonna get me one."

"Fancy." Dean says snidely, "Although, I think you should have to get a flip phone first, just so you can understand the struggle of trying to text on one of those primitive things."

"What's a flip phone?"

"Never mind." Dean says "You'll never have to worry about it. Benefits of being a gen Z kid, I guess."

Jack is scrolling through the different pages on Sam's screen when he clicks on the phone icon.

"So I just click on this and I can talk to Sam or Cas or...you?" He adds Dean as kind of an afterthought, his gaze flickering up him, nervously.

"Yep." Dean replies, unimpressed.

"What is 'voicemail'." Jack does air quotes again and Dean laughs, in spite of himself and sighs

"Who's been teaching you to do air quotes?"

Jack looks at Dean and narrows his eyes, "Cas does that. He said it's cool."

Dean laughs out loud at that. "Oh dammit. You know what? I might have been responsible for that."

He's quiet for a minute, then continues, "So a voicemail is when you call someone and don't get an answer. It's just leaving a message for them to be later. You'll get that a lot with Sammy." Dean rolls his eyes. "Kid's always got his phone silenced. Here, play one and I'll show you."

Jack scrolls down the list and presses 'play' on the very last message.

A voice, distorted and low-quality, like it came off an ancient cell-phone, rattles out from the speakers. It sounds just like Dean's voice, but it's not quite right. The tone is vicious and cutting and oh god...those are certainly not Dean's words.

"Listen to me you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam--a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."

The voice cuts out into silence and the mood in the room shifts dramatically.

Jack's eyes lift towards Dean slowly, a look of disgust and anger on creasing his smooth features.

Dean is sitting absolutely still. If he were anyone else you might say he looked like he'd seen a ghost, but nothing as simple as a ghost could put this look on Dean's face. He looks like someone has sucked all the breath from his body, the blood draining from his cheeks.

"Was that you, Dean? Did you really say that to Sam?" Jack whispers, incredulously.

"Let me see that phone." Dean gets up, practically stumbles over to Jack, and grabs the phone out of his hand. Jack jerks back in surprise, but lets Dean snatch it from him without a word.

Dean taps the screen to wake it back up and stares at the date beside the voicemail, lost in a world of his own.

"That's...but...that's, no..." he mutters to himself and throws Sam's phone on the table like it's red hot and burning him. Then he sits down heavily in the nearest chair.

"Dean?" Jack is worried.

"I didn't...that's not..." Dean is trembling slightly and shaking his head while he murmurs.

"What is it Dean?" Jack leans forward, fearfully he grasps Dean by the shoulder, trying to gently shake him out of whatever trance he's fallen into without awakening his wrath.

Dean doesn't snap, or shout or fight back, he doesn't even register the kid's presence.

"I did not say that." He whispers. Then he picks up Sam's phone with a look of stone-cold anger and for a second he thinks he will smash it into bits, burn the bits, stomp on them for awhile, and then burn the ashes, just so he never has to hear that fucking awful message again.

He gets up, after awhile and grabs Sam's phone off the table, holding it away form him with utter disgust, the way you'd hold a dirty diaper.

"Tell Sam to come find me when he gets back. I'll be in my room."

Jack doesn't know what to else to do, so he nods, silently, sensing that whatever is going on here is not something he needs to be involved in anymore.

Dean wanders off to his room, weaving and stumbling like he's drunk.

He finally makes it to his room and he just kind of crashes onto his bed, sitting down heavily and holding his head in his hands while his brain races with a million thoughts.

It's all starting to come together in his mind.

This was the betrayal that started it all.

Sam killing Lilith, breaking the final seal, letting Lucifer out of the cage, the fucking apocalypse and Sam's sacrifice and eventual return to him. Soulless Sam, and then traumatized Sam, afflicted by hallucinations and memories, nearly dying from lack of sleep when the wall crumbled.

All of these events that set each other into motion, like a horrible cascade-were all because of their broken relationship-because of him. It just clicks into place in his brain, like a final puzzle piece. Everything is because of Sam's despair brought on by this one stupid, horrible message. All of that carnage, all the death and grief and agony of the past 9 years, it could be traced back to this horrible misunderstanding. To the fracture in their brotherhood brought on by Dean's own mistrust in his brother that led Sam to believe he would ever say anything so horrible.

The awful sound of his own distorted voice keeps echoing in Dean's ears and he feels so many things at once that he can't even identify exactly what he's feeling.

Except guilt. And rage. And grief. The big three emotions that Dean feels on practically a daily basis, swirl through him with white-hot intensity, battling for dominance-and finally he settles on guilt. It's the most familiar.

The message may have been intercepted and twisted by Ruby or Zechariah or whatever supernatural dickhead was screwing with them the most at the time, but it was his fault that Sam would even believe he'd said that. That was on him.

Dean settles back onto his bed, leaning against the headboard, and picks up a half-empty, warm beer from beside his bed. It's stale and watery but he takes a long swallow, then another and another. It tastes awful but Dean doesn't care-it takes the edge off of his conflicted thoughts.

After awhile he gets up paws around inside his bureau drawer, looking under ammo and flannels and family photos until he finds the bottle of whiskey he keeps stashed there.

He sits back down on his bed and doesn't even bother with a glass, just takes a swig right out of the bottle.

It doesn't take long until the room is spinning and he is afraid to get up for fear of falling over or being sick. He feels half-alive, but at least the raging storm of pain and guilt inside him has soothed to a battering drizzle.

"Dean?"

He hears Sam coming down the hall a bit too late, and he rushes to clean up his act and appear more sober, an effort that just leaves him looking guilty and awkward, arms crossed over his chest and eyes too purposely focused, as Sam appears, standing in his doorway.

"Jack said you wanted me for something?" Sam steps into the room. " I brought dinner." He barely glances at Dean, then does a double-take. Dean looks up, clearing his throat and trying too hard to hide the fact that he's mostly shit-faced.

Sam raises his eyebrows in disbelief "Are you drunk, Dean?" He snickers, then his eyes fall on the iPhone beside Dean. "Hey, what the hell are you doing with my phone, man? The whole point was for Jack to get familiarized with it. You using my damn *phone* for porn now, or something?"

Sam stalks into the room, picks up his cell phone, and unlocks it, then freezes when he sees which voicemail is cued up.

His eyes dart away instantly and Dean swears that the look that flashes across his face is 100%, horrible, overwhelming, shame. Even in his drunken state that pain cuts through Dean like a silver blade through a blood-sucker.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispers.

Dean's head shoots up at that. "What?!" His voice comes out louder than he intended. "Sammy, what the hell, what are you fucking..." he loses track of what he's saying and just sort of dissolves into random curses. A sort of foul-mouthed, slurring, gibberish most likely brought on by alcohol and emotion.

"I'm sorry." Sam repeats. "I don't know why I saved it, I just...sometimes I needed to remind myself what I really...what I really was." Sam's voice wobbles and he turns around and starts to walk out.

"Sam." Dean says it quietly but so commandingly, that Sam stops and turns around.

Dean sits up as best he can, swaying slightly and maybe it's the alcohol or shock, or fatigue, or all of the above, but suddenly there's tears in his eyes. Dean's about to cry. And Dean never cries. Sam stands stock still, a look of shock and disbelief on his face.

"Dean?" He says, taking a tentative step towards him. "Dean...oh my god, what?"

"It wasn't me, Sam." Dean's voice is harsh and wrecked as he chokes the words out through his swollen throat. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying to rid himself of this undignified swell of feelings. "It wasn't me. That...that wasn't me...oh my god, Sam, that was never me." He's stuttering and panicking and shaking his head "You have to believe me."

He's practically babbling and Sam is still standing there, blinking as his big, strong, soldier of a brother threatens to break apart in front of him.

"Oh my god, Sam. I can't believe you saved that all these years, and I can't stand it that you would ever think I could say that to you. I would never threaten you. I could never call you a freak. In never lost hope in you. I mean, I doubted that we could win so many times, but I didn't doubt the good in you. You're my baby brother..." Dean breaks off, his words are tight and high-pitched and slurred with drink and emotion. He wishes he could say how much he loves him, he wishes he could get those words out, but he just can't speak another sentence, so he sits, staring into his lap.

Sam doesn't say anything right away. Then, after a beat, he just crosses the room in a single stride, and Dean feels the bed sink down as Sam sits beside him.

"This wasn't you?" He asks simply, holding up his phone.

Dean lifts his head and he looks intensely at Sam. He doesn't say anything, he just shakes his head and hopes that Sam can see the truth in his eyes.

"How do you explain it, Dean? I mean, it occurred to me that someone might be messing with us... but...I guess I thought you were right ...you know...it's what I deserved after all that I'd done. All that I was planning to do."

"Sam," Dean still sounds frantic and he rubs a hand down his eyes, trying to compose himself. "But it wasn't me. It was the angels or the demons or something, but I wouldn't say that. In fact..." Dean takes yet another deep breath, " I said something a whole lot different. I don't remember exactly what, but I mean, you would have been proud of me. It was Hallmark quality, dude. I told you I wasn't dad, I shouldn't try to control you...I said I was wrong, Sammy. Cause I really was. A-about...e-verything."

Dean fades out yet again. He hasn't stopped looking at his little brother the whole time, his eyes are burning red with unshed tears and the stress of this conversation, but he just keeps staring pleadingly at Sam.

"Okay." Sam says it so quietly Dean almost doesn't hear him even though he's sitting right beside him.

"Okay, okay, okay..." he repeats over and over again, like his brain is shorting out.

He keeps rubbing the scar on the palm of his hand, hunching over into himself, and sort of hitching his breaths, like he's unable to force air into his lungs.

"Sam?" Dean says with concern. "Sammy, you alright?"

Sam's still repeating 'ok' to himself and kind of trembling all over now.

Dean reaches over and puts a hand on Sam's shoulder, just to steady him, just to keep him from falling off the bed. The effect is unintended but immediate. Sam leans over further, trying to hide behind his hair, and presses both hands to his mouth. It does little to muffle the choked sob that swells and bursts from him.

Dean feels his heart split in two, he almost wants to check his shirt for blood, see if he's actually wounded through his chest, that's how bad it hurts to see the pain he's caused Sam.

"Aww, Sam. I'm so sorry." Dean breathes.

Chick flick moments be damned.

Dean grabs his little brother by the shirt, and drags him over, tugging him into his arms.

It's like a scene from a million times before when they were kids. So many times when Sam had a nightmare, or when he'd gotten hurt, or when he found out what their dad did for a living. When Sam found out that monsters were real. When he'd been asked for the thousandth time about his mom and he had nothing to say and it became too much. After their dad would come home hurt and half drunk and kick Dean around because nothing was right and he didn't know what to do with his anger and Dean would just take it silently. Oddly enough it was always Sam who cried afterwards. Dean would hold his little brother and comfort him as the bruises slowly spread across his flesh. When Sam had gotten his heart broken for the first time. When he'd lost Jess. When he'd lost Madison. So many times, Dean had comforted his little brother. That was his job and he was good at it. But this time is a bit different. This time it's Dean who was, unwittingly or not, the cause of Sam's pain. And Dean holds him all the tighter for that.

"Shhh..shhh.." Dean hushes Sam, trying hard not to choke on his own tears. "I can't believe you ever thought I would think that. I'm so, so sorry, Sammy."

Sam's tears last a long time, 9 years of grief and fear and loneliness and self-hatred flowing out of him in one, long, never-ending torrent.

Eventually, Sam sits shakily back, embarrassed but too exhausted to care, and starts to dry his face on his sleeve, wearily.

"Here." Dean grabs a handful of tissues from the box at his bedside and gives them to Sam, who wipes thankfully at his sore eyes.

"I ruined your favourite shirt." Sam sniffs apologetically and nods at Dean's shoulder.

Dean laughs in spite of the current mood. It's just like Sam to be worried about something so trivial at a time like this.

"Hardly ruined." He shrugs.

They sit next to each silently for awhile, Dean watching Sam out of the corner of his eye as he keeps brooding.

Sam's voice is thick when at last he speaks again, but he gets the words out.

"It's not your fault, Dean. It's not my fault either. I think I finally realize that now. We were played, Dean, but you know what? We figured it out. Only took us 9 years and almost destroying the world a couple times, but we figured it out."

Sam smiles then. It's a pure, unpolluted look, so bright and peaceful, its a look that Dean hasn't seen light up his little brother's face in so many years. Maybe since their prank war so so long ago, when his floppy-haired, doe-eyed little brother had sat across from him and smiled with a strength that burned-out the sun.

Dean smiles back, but it's still a painful, guilty smile that tugs down at the corners as he thinks of all the times he's rejected his little brother, made him feel like he was an outcast and a freak. It was all said in rash moments of anger but he can see how it fed into this cycle of self-hatred for Sam. How it made him reject everything about himself, made him suicidal and hopeless and dimmed the light burning inside him.

"It's ok, Dean, really." Sam says. "It's ok now. I finally understand it all, don't you? It's our bond that saved the world, Dean. I'm proud of everything we've done with and for each other. We saved the world a lot of times before, and we will this time too."

Dean nods. "I can go along with that."

Sam is still smiling that golden smile and Dean feels himself lifted near him, warmed with the happiness and relief that is radiating from his brother.

"Guys...?"

A voice echoes down the hall and suddenly Jack is standing in the doorway. "Are you ever coming out? Dean, your burger is getting cold." Jack stops when he gets a look at the brothers.

"Sam? Are you ok? Why are you crying?" He asks it so simply and openly, with the concern of a child, and Sam chuckles a little through his happy tears.

"Is everything alright?" Jack repeats.

"Yeah, Jack." Sam nods and stands up, then reaches out to help his still inebriated older brother to his feet.

"Yeah. Finally. I think, everything is really good for right now."

~end

I hope I gave Sam his much needed breakdown over this without crossing the line too much. At the very least, I hope I warmed your heart with a bro hug and a little of Jack trying to fit in :)

Let me know what you thought! Be brutal or be flattering or be whatever you want to be, just talk to me!!

Love you guys!!