Title: The Murse and Me
Chapter: 1
Beta Reader: BlackFruitBat
Genre: Crack. Purse and Simple. (Pun intended)
Pairing: Murse/Sam and Dean/Cas
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: There really aren't any but assume up to 5x22 just in case.
Warnings: Reading this may cause brain damage. Antiquity- I mean, NotRaven and NotMeredith cannot be held responsible for any damages that may occur as a result of reading this. Consider yourself warned.
Summary: This aberration of nature is dedicated to CloudyJenn as it was created her request. It involves a ManPurse (Murse) that loves Sam and Sam who.. loves it back. Naturally, Cas and Dean are horrified. Or mostly, Dean is horrified and Cas just doesn't understand but is going along with Dean because they're "not in a relationship" and that's what people who are "not in a relationship" do. Right? Right.
Disclaimer: We don't own them. We never will own them. In fact, we're slightly ashamed of even borrowing them for this sort of abuse. Apologies all around.

It has often been said by vast and various sources (you can cite them yourself if you're that desperate) that the machine picks the man.

Well, this wasn't a machine but it picked Sam all the same.

Sam had been kicked out of the hotel yet AGAIN for sake of Dean and Cas doing "whatever it was" that Dean and Cas did alone. Sam didn't think about it because if he did, he was sure it was going to break his brain. It was nothing against his brother finally discovering the fact that he wasn't as steady in his sexuality as he thought he was, far from it. Sam just didn't want to be a part of it. Well, at least not be a part of a few particular things, namely the questionable noises floating through the door, headboard mysteriously banging against the wall at Bobby's all night, or the occasional sigh of Cas and Dean shifting through the night air.

Because of this strong desire to NOT experience these questionable and mysterious events, Sam had taken to sacrificing his well deserved quiet time in the hotel for wandering around the local mall at peak hours. All for the sake of his needy brother and equally needy angel, of course. In other words, it was all to avoid possible awkward situations and pointed stares, ones that clearly stated the angel and his charge needed space but didn't want to announce it because they haven't announced anything to anyone (regardless of the fact that everyone worth knowing already knew). So Sam left.

And that's how he found himself standing in front of it. Well, at least standing in front of a window display held IT captive.

The "it" in question was seemingly nothing more than some tan canvas hastily stitched together in a quality that only a factory running on overtime could provide. The seams were questionable (vaguely making a threat to break if too much stress was placed upon it), the material was cheap, and the whole thing was over priced by at least six times its actual value. Yet none of that seemed to matter because Sam was bizarrely entranced.

And it wanted it that way.

Day in and day out it sat in the display and waited. It watched the window shoppers and potential buyers drift past with varying stages of interest. Mildly it held a bit of interest back, like it was flirting with the idea of going home with some of them but never honestly entertained the intention past the flirt. So there it remained, trapped behind its glass prison as it waited.

Like sleeping beauty in her coffin.

And Sam was prince charming.

From the moment it noticed Sam looking, curiously stepping forward, it knew. It knew in an instant that they were fated and Sam would have no way out of taking the plunge to rescue it from the desolate isolation of the glass prison display. So it called to him.

Now, contrary to popular belief, some objects have enchantment. Which is a fancy way of saying they have what some might consider a soul. A soul that could reach out and touch any individual they deem fit enough to yield themselves to. They could call, entrance, and entrap any potential customer by inducing endorphins similar to those produced when you're in love.

Love. Up until now it had thought of that concept as something so very whimsical and foreign, but with Sam standing in front of it starring so intensely, it was sure this was love. Or at least, as close to love as it was ever going to feel. So it doubled the charm and tripled the appeal, crying silently out to Sam who would be rendered helpless in a matter of moments.

If it were possible to look smug, it would have in the moment Sam stepped foot inside the door.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

"Is that a purse?" Dean scoffed and both Sam and his object did not approve.

"It's not a purse… It's a murse." You tell 'em Sammy!

"A what? I've never heard of such a thing," Cas commented from the background.

Dean laughed. "That's cuz your sexuality isn't in question like Sammy's," he joked to his angel.

They all paused awkwardly. Even the murse felt weird about that one.

"It's useful!" Sam snapped, stroking the murse's detachable cell phone pocket affectionately.

"Riiight," was all Dean could come up with.

The murse desperately wished it could swing up and hit this man in the face. Instead, it exuded a hostile aura in his direction. Dean eyed it with suspicion.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

For the next few weeks the murse never left Sam's side. They would take long walks together when Dean and the angel had "private post-apocalypse business" to attend to. They slept together in Sam's bed, but the murse didn't try anything. Sam wasn't ready for that yet. The murse could sense that his beautiful prince had been hurt before, and it didn't want to damage the bond they had built.

Sam told it about his life while they sat together, when it lay trustingly in his lap. He didn't reveal everything about his tragic past, but probably more than he had shared with anyone in a long while. One day, Sam even pulled the murse to his face and let a few tears seep into its soft canvas while he talked of someone named Jess. The murse knew it shouldn't be jealous of a dead girl, but still… she had obviously known Sam in a way that it didn't.

When they traveled on the road, the murse made sure it wasn't relegated to the back seat of the Impala (which, it had to admit, was a handsome life partner for Dean). Ignoring the sidelong looks from Dean, Sam kept his precious murse in his lap or tucked carefully between his legs. Sometimes Sam drove, and he would let the murse lay in front of him on the dashboard, so he could talk to it late into the night while Dean snored in the passenger seat.

Finally, their connection grew too strong for either of them to deny. They were in the parking lot of a small, neon-lit motel. Sam was buying a soda from a vending machine, and when he reached into the murse's folds to retrieve a dollar bill, his fingers tingled with sensual intensity. The murse made its move.

It was time. Sam knew it too, and rushed back to the door of their motel room with the murse thumping against his firm behind as he ran.

Dean and Cas were in the room, talking in hushed tones. They went silent when Sam burst in, squeezing the murse against him with a sweaty hand.

"Get out," Sam said.

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, looking incredulously at his brother.

"Both of you, out! It's our turn to have the room!"

Cas, for once, seemed to pick up on what was going on. "Dean," he said, "why don't we take a walk? I think Sam needs some time by himself."

On his way out, Dean kept an eye on his brother, particularly noting the way Sam was indignantly clutching the murse to himself. When they were gone, the murse weighed heavily on Sam's shoulder, pulling him down onto the bed. Sam took off his shirt and let the murse slide against his bare skin.

The murse lay across his chest, tenderly reassuring him that it was all right. That it would be gentle with him.

That night, Sam discovered compartments that he didn't know the murse possessed.

Hours later, when it was over and Sam slept soundly beside his love, the murse heard the front door open. Someone tiptoed in. Probably that bastard Dean. It didn't matter. The murse finally had what it had wanted all along. To be safe and satisfied in the arms of Sam Winchester.

Then it heard a low, threatening voice near its side of the bed.

"You're not taking my brother away from me, Bitch Bag."

When a foreign hand wrapped around its limp strap, it was horrified to find that it couldn't even scream.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

Sam awoke to the morning light filtering through the translucent curtains. He shifted to pull the murse closer to him, only to find the spot void of his canvassed companion. His eyes flew open in an instant with horror, mapping patterns across his brow. Where had it gone? Why did this sort of thing always happen to him?

He checked the ceiling just in case but upon finding no inferno swallowing yet another love, he turned to check under the bed. After a solid ten minutes of frantic thrashing, Sam realized the murse was nowhere to be found.

"DEAN!"

It was Cas who answered the wail, awkwardly making his way into the room from the bathroom. Which was curious because Cas didn't need to use the bathroom. Sam didn't take even a second to breathe a word before he leapt off the bed and snagged Cas' shirt collar. Which, had he been less livid and more in touch with reality, he may have noticed the missing buttons and the curious red marks around the angel's neck.

"Where is it?" The hiss threatened disembowelment and Cas, being Cas, merely starred in the face of death and blinked.

"I have no idea what you're talking about Sam."

Cas was a really bad liar. He shuffled his feet and side glanced every time he wasn't telling the whole truth on purpose. This only served to make Sam twice as angry.

"Don't lie to me Cas! Where is it?"

"He doesn't have it."

Sam ripped his attention from Cas and threw it to Dean who was storming towards his brother, the air of possessive protectiveness flaring off of him. Instinctively Sam dropped Cas' collar and smoothed it down for good measure. After all, he wanted to FIND the murse, not die before he knew where it was.

"Then where IS it, Dean?" Sam's expression was turning dark, as dark as it had looked when he was possessed by the Devil himself.

Dean paused next to Cas, standing too close to the angel before casually reaching over to pop up the collar. Sam thought to comment but shifted his attention to the main topic point.

"Dean..." he warned once again, "give it back."

"Sammy... We need to talk." Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "We tried to be understanding of your…" There was a pregnant pause as he clearly was looking for the right words. "…well, either way, it's not healthy."

"This is an intervention." Cas cleared his throat.

"HEALTHY?" Sam exploded all at once, "You wanna talk about HEALTHY? You're the one having sex with a MALE ANGEL!"

"I AM NOT!"

Collectively, the entire party turned various shades of crimson.

"Actually-" Cas began but Dean cut him off.

"Besides, that's NONE of your business!"

"You've MADE it my business! Kicking me out of the room every night- I just wanted to spend one night with Jess Jr.!"

"You named it Jess Jr.?"

"No." Sam looked defensive. "Maybe. T-That's not the point! Quit changing the subject and give him back!"

"Him? Sammy-"

"No!" Sam shouted. "I won't listen to this!" He had to get Dean back for this, to show him what it felt like to have something you love taken away by someone you trusted. He spun around and snatched Dean's keys off the end table. He held them up threateningly.

Dean face fell. Cas looked mildly confused.

"Don't do anything stupid, Sammy," Dean spoke slowly, reaching out for his keys.

"No! You get the keys when I get Jess Jr.!"

"Fine. Whatever you want. Just don't do anything we both might regret."

Sam looked into his brother's desperate eyes.

"You promise you'll give Jess Jr. back?"

"Sure. Of course. The keys."

Sam, with shaky hands, warily placed the keys into Dean's outstretched palm. This was a level of trust he hadn't wagered in his brother in a very long time. And just as soon as the keys hit Dean's hand, he snatched them up with a maniacal glint in his eye.

"It's in the car BITCH!"

And then he was gone. Like, out the door and around the corner GONE.

Sam starred at the empty space where Dean had been, rage creeping up his spine and lighting fire in his eyes before his feet sprinted into a run.

Standing in the empty room, Cas shifted. "I should stop this…"

Outside, Sam body tackled Dean into the Impala and an epic struggle, which would put the apocalypse to shame. There was wrestling on the hood and hair pulling on the trunk before Sam landed a sucker punch to Dean's solar plexus, effectively knocking the wind out of him. The keys silently tumbled towards the ground before the younger brother snatched them out of the air and jammed them into the door, ripping it open in a single fluid motion.

And there it was. Jess Jr. lying morosely across the backseat just waiting for prince charming to come rescue it. Sam reached for it tenderly, eyebrows drawn together in worry. Had Dean been kind? Or did he hurt Jess Jr.?

"Jess…" Sam whispered, pulling the murse into his arms to cradle it against his chest with all the love and affection you could give another human. Or inanimate lover. Whatever.

"Holy shit is that Lucifer?" Dean sputtered out of the blue, hand pointing at some distant point behind Sam.

Sam really should have known better, and really should have seen right through that stunt only a tween would come up with. But the devil was still a sore spot with Sam and he couldn't help but look.

Straightening up with all the rigidness of a board, he craned his neck around to check and see. You know, just in case.

Dean, the bastard, took the opportunity to grab the bottom of the murse still clutched in his brother's arms and yank as hard as he could. A terrible ripping sound filled the air and as if it were in slow motion, and the murse's handle tore off in Sam's hand while the rest of the bag followed Dean.

Too stunned to move, Sam watched as his brother fled the scene with the murse tucked under his arm like a gawddamn football. Jess Jr. was no football!

His legs finally found their will to move when he realized that Dean was headed straight for the overpass next to the motel. The youngest chased as fast as he could, heart pounding against his ribs in an erratic rhythm.

"DEEAAAN! DON'T!"

But he did.

With all the strength his arms could muster, the eldest Winchester hurled the bag off the edge of the tallest point and watched as it sailed towards the freeway bellow. Sam skidded to a halt, slamming his body into the rail in order to reach out for Jess Jr.

But he was too late.

The murse fluttered slowly away, and if he listened closely he could hear its cries wafting on the breeze.

"I regret nothing..." it would have called as he reached the bottom. "Your shoulder completed me."

Aniety knoted in Sam's stomach as a large semi truck barreled towards it at lightning speed.

"I'll never forget you," it would have whispered had it lips to speak.

"I know..." Sam murmured the moment the truck rolled over his Jess Jr. "I know."

Hesitantly, Dean reached out and patted his baby brother on the back. "It's for the best, Sammy."

End

Epilogue

A month had gone by since the passing of his beloved and Sam had yet to fully recover. They were back in that same town, the place where he and the Murse had first met. And Sam found himself haunting the places they had traversed together.

Aimlessly he drifted through department stores, hands limply at his sides, fingers itching to touch the course strap that no longer rested on his shoulder. Memories filtered through time to playback the images of their first encounter when he stopped in front of the store.

There were other bags there now, hanging lifelessly in the window with no appeal or call to them. They were merely shells of what Jess Jr. had been. They couldn't hold a candle to his love and they never would. No bag ever would again. He was doomed to remain a wallet-in-pocket kind of guy for the rest of his life.

Dragging himself from the display, Sam trudged through the mall towards the exit, feet dragging not unlike that of a zombie. He was dead inside anyway, so the living dead image was really befitting.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught a glimpse of beige that made his heart leap. It reminded him so of the color of Jess Jr. had been, that exact shade of awkward not-quit-brown but too dark to be cream color. He turned then, fully allowing himself to look at the display which held not a bag but a pair of laced up and fur lined Uggs. His breath caught in his throat as he approached the window, as if in a trance. They were practically crying out to him and his feet answered the call, wanting to be embraced by that soft faux fur lining.

They weren't Jess Jr. but already his heart felt the strings of sutures closing up the open wound that his Murse had left behind.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

Dean looked up from his latest copy of Busty Asian Beauties to see Sam standing triumphantly in the doorway of their motel. Nothing would have seemed out of the ordinary if his eyes hadn't (for some reason) trailed down to his brother's feet. Which were… adorned with…

"What the hell are THOSE?"

Sam's face pinched tightly in indignation. "What? They Uggs. You know, shoes?"

"Those aren't shoes, those are.. GIRL'S SHOES."

"They're unisex, Dean." Sam was hotly with his response, closing the door harder than need be.

"Dude.. They have laces and bows. And.. Is that fake fur?"

"Yes. Yes it is. What are you gonna do? Rip them off my feet and throw them off an overpass?"

Dean starred for a minute then shook his head slowly, "No. No, I'm just going to assume you're gay."

"Whatever. Don't judge me and Gabriel Jr." Sam stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him as he heard Dean practically jump out of his chair and send his mag flying against the door.

"Wait WHAT? Gabriel Jr.? You have GOT to be kidding me!"

Sam stuck his head out just in time to square his brother with a firm look. "As if you have any right to judge, Angel Slut."

The door slammed once again on Dean's bewildered face, his own smug with satisfaction over his clever retort. Looking down at the Uggs, he wiggled his toes and sighed contently.

"Don't worry, Gabe, I wont let him touch you. Besides, he's totally Cas' bitch anyway."

"I AM NOT A CATCHER!" Dean shouted through the thin wall, fist pounding against the door. "I mean.. I wouldn't be.. That is, if anything weird was going on. Which it's not. Because Cas and I are straight. As in, not having sex. With each other."

Sam wiggled his toes again. "Whatever wing whore."

"I'm NOT a wing-"

"Dean." That was clearly Cas. "I don't see why you feel the need to lie about-"

"Shut up Cas, we've talked about this."

"But Sam isn't actually in the room at the moment. You said that we couldn't talk about 'Us' when he's in the room, which he's not. He's in the bathroom."

"You're not helping. At all."

Sam ignored the following arguments in favor of sitting on the edge of the tub and wondering if you could take Uggs in the shower with you.

END (For real this time)