The grave look was back on Sam's face and damn if it didn't make him strain his pants. He linked their hands together and leaned in to breathe Sam in. Sam jerked his head back before he could kiss his hair.

Dave felt Sam try to pull his hand out and held firm. Sam paused, the steady look faltering. 'Daddy said I shouldn't let anyone except Uncle Bobby and Dean get too close.' Daddy. More than Dean. Sam's voice conveyed the gravitas of that edict.

Dave sighed silently. He hated it when things got messy. Just hated it. But he couldn't let Sam go. Oh no, not after what he'd seen of the boy. He was an absolute delight. More than Mark. More than anyone. He'd never felt this before - not this sort of incandescent..what else..love. It could only be love - this feeling, this madness. He tried explaining 'Oh but Sam', he breathed against his perfect shell-like ear, 'I love you. Like Dean. Like your Daddy'.

Sam strained away from him. 'No!' His voice was louder and panicked.

Dave put his hands on Sam's knees brushing away the mud, his thumb rubbing the skin under the hem of his shorts. ' I really, really love you, you know. More than Dean. More than your Daddy. Because you're so perfect.'

Sam opened his mouth to scream and Dave's hand was almost over his mouth to cut him off, when the side of his face exploded in pain. He let go of Sam involuntarily and Sam was off the bench like a shot, running.

Through the haze of pain, he heard someone yell, 'Sammy!' and an answering 'Dean!'

Dave wiped the blood of his face and turned to face a young boy holding Sam. Had he thrown a rock at him? He looked about Mark's age but his eyes were cold and ancient. Dave started towards them but he was stopped in his tracks when the boy - Dean - pulled out a wicked curved knife. He kept Sam behind him with his other hand. 'Listen you freak, come any closer and I'll stick this in your throat', he snarled. The voice was boyish, but the menace in his tone was the last thing you'd expect to hear from a child. Dave's stomach clenched with what he realised, to his horror, was fear. Afraid of a child?

Dave heard himself babbling, 'You don't understand. It's not what you think. No..no..it's not like that. I love him. Don't you see?! I love him! It's love! Everyone deserves to love! To be loved! I deserve to be loved!'

Dean's face twisted with contempt but when he spoke it was in a conversational tone that was somehow was even more chilling. ' You know, this is the khukri of the Gurkha warriors', he said gesturing to the knife in his hand. The man called Dave stood frozen; eyes not moving from the glint of the blade.

Dean continued like he was talking about the weather. 'They say you should always draw blood when you unsheathe the khukri. To not do so is to dishonour the gods.'

Dave swallowed painfully in the pause. If the fear wasn't crippling his mind, he would have been embarrassed by his trembling.

'We're going to go now and if you so much as blink, so help me, you filthy son of a bitch.'

Dave watch Dean has he slowly backed away, Sam firmly in hand. By the time they had disappeared from view, Dave was slumped on the ground, his jellied legs no longer able to support him.

A/N : I'm sure most, if not all, of you recognised the 'I deserve to be loved' line that Crowley said at the end of Season 8. 'Dave' is not not Crowley or a 'demon' but a monster nevertheless.