Ever since Sam was little, life in the Complex was the only thing he'd ever known. And he liked it – it was simple, and stable, and routine, and safe. They were free from the worries of life that everyone on the outside had to deal with, and based on the TV and books that they were allowed in their leisure time, people on the outside had a lot of worries. The only thing that Sam had to worry about were the tests.

When he was younger, he hadn't understood. He had asked over and over again why he was there, why he couldn't just live a normal life like everybody else. The wardens had simply returned his question with their honey-dipped smiles, even laughing a little, like he should've known the answer to such a silly question. "Why, you're special, Sammy," they'd tell him. And that was that. Over time he'd come to accept it.

He must've been around fourteen or fifteen when he first figured out what they meant by 'special'. That was when the abilities started. Visions, at first, and always accompanied with blinding headaches that disappeared the minute they were over. They always showed someone dying, and the minute he had them they rushed him to the counselor, who reassured him the person would be fine, but what happened next, Sammy dear?

It wasn't exactly like it was a hard life, not at all. And the Complex, the schedule, the cafeteria, the sweet-as-sugar wardens that had taken care of him since he was a baby - that was all he had. He had no real family, and he'd never really had a desire to have one. The Complex, and everything it entailed, was enough for him.

Until about a month ago, at least. That was when the dreams started. They were strange, unusually vivid, and unlike the visions in that he never knew when they were coming. They always featured the same man – Dean. Dean, who couldn't have been more than twenty-five. Dean, with that deep rumbling baritone and the shiny old Impala with the mysterious arsenal in the trunk. All of these things that felt so familiar, yet Sam could've sworn that he'd never seen the man before in his life.

Those dreams were his first secret. Before that, he'd told them everything. That was he supposed to do. There had been no reason not to, but Sam had a bad feeling that the instant they knew about these dreams, they would find some way to take them away, and he didn't want that. Dean – this strangely familiar man who existed in the fringes of his brain – was his only real connection to the outside world. And it felt good.