Ever since shit went down five years ago, life has been a game of survival of the fittest. You lead the survivors camp: Camp Chitaqua, beside your long time hunting partner, Dean Winchester.

Fighting off Croats was a daily (and nightly) struggle. Everything was different. It wasn’t the basic vamp or werewolf anymore. It was zombie freaks who were out for blood.

You were out on patrol with Dean when you two heard a clatter out by the old out of use Impala, drowned in foliage. “Keep it down.” Dean commands, you comply with no question, “Cmon.” He gestures with his finger for you to follow.

He creeps up, and clocks the man rummaging in the Impala in the head. Crisis averted. Wrong. As the unconscious body is rolled over Dean looks down and sees…his own face staring right back at him.

You two drag the doppelganger (unbeknownst to you and Dean, the doppelganger is him, from five years ago—courtesy of Zachariah) to a tent, and cuff him to a cracked wooden post. Dean is tense beside you, when his doppelganger opens his eyes drearily… with a confused, “What the hell..?” Dean starts his interrogation.

“I should be asking that question, don’t ya think?” Dean retorts, “In fact, why don’t you give me one good reason, why we shouldn’t gank you right here right now?” He asks with a gesture between you and himself

“Because you’d only be hurting yourself?” The doppelganger quips, Dean is unimpressed. “Look man—I’m no shapeshifter….”

You cut him off, it was then that the doppelganger seems to actually recognize you. He knows you. “We know, we did the drill while you were out.” You say crossing your arms, “Silver, Salt, holy water—nothing.”

Dean chimes in with a scrutinizing stare at his doppelganger, “You know what was funny? Was that you carry every hidden lockpick, box cutter, and switchblade that I carry. Now, you want to explain that? Oh, and the, uh, resemblance, while you’re at it?” He says with an expectant scowl.