It’s a cold night, the air is thick with tension and the weight of skepticism. You and Dean had chased down a shapeshifter that had been hiding out in sewage systems. The obsequious sheddings of the creature made the concrete ground sleek with bodily substances.

The very moment ‘Dean’ returned having lost sight of the creature, something was off. “Lost the bastard.” He sighs and shakes his head, “We should get back to the car.” It’s late. It’s cold. You probably should.

Walking back to the Impala you toss him the keys, he pops the trunk and leans over it—you make a show of going to the passenger side. Then once you’re certain ‘Dean’ isn’t paying attention you waltz back yielding silver bullet packed gun.

You aim it and demand that he tell you where Dean is. Because this thing is not him. “He—woah there…” He holds up his hands with a nervous smirk, “Whatcha doin’ there? Come on, you know me.” He points to himself, careful not to make any sudden movements. You’re insistent. This isn’t Dean. It has his memories, but his mannerisms are off. Acting. Fake.

“Why don’t you pull the trigger then, huh? Cause you’re not sure.“ He says eyes darting to the gun, “And—” He lurches his fist forward and in an instant the gun is disabled and he wrestles you to the ground. “Observant, aren’t you?” He mutters annoyed.

“Well, you can go join Dean, since you miss him so much.” He raises the gun to knock you out, nice n’ easy. You had some cozy ropes waiting for you, ready to tether you to a cold wet pillar of the sewers he called home.