For his part, Sam's bangs kept falling into his eyes. The upside was that he was pretty used to it, having always had them too long since...ever. Part of this was because Dean had made it a habit early on of bitching about their length and how one day, it was gonna get his ass kicked six ways to Sunday.

This had...admittedly happened. Several times. But not because of his hair.

"Uh." Sam paused, fingers in the wet sponge, before starting up again. "B-class. I've been here just under three weeks."

He missed the car, he wasn't going to deny it. He'd never had the attachment Dean did to the Impala, but after Dean died, it'd...meant something more to him and even with his brother back again, it hadn't quite lost that. Had the one he'd driven in that pocket dimension been a replica? Probably. He hadn't found her where he'd last remembered leaving her, at least. He hoped so, 'cause otherwise it meant she was sitting in the middle of an empty parking lot somewhere. At least he hadn't crashed her or anything.

"I've seen you around, too. I'm Sam, by the way," he added. He would've offered his hand, but, you know. It'd be better if they didn't look like they were socializing too much, anyway. He didn't want to be responsible for getting someone else in trouble. "Do you know what they mean? Like, the ranking. The soldier this morning was sort of the...strong and silent type."

He figured the kid knew, or had some idea, if he was asking. Considering he'd coupled it with a comment on the length of time Sam had been here, Sam realized belatedly that the question had been unnecessary: the class system corresponded to how long they'd been here. Was that it?

It made sense. The ones who disappeared for good, that obviously wasn't accidental. They'd been knocked off for a reason, meaning the ones who stuck around had been deemed, God, what. Valuable?

That was one way to phrase it. The thought made him uneasy.