"Magical fake life?" Admittedly, Sam sounded amused at that one. It was such a poorly constructed theory, yet hearing it come from the little boy was almost endearing. He felt the urge to reach down and pat him on the head for the attempt, but Sam resisted. Speaking of encouragement, Sam hardly needed to return the gesture. "My life is quite real, I assure you. The magical element would merely pertain to my average exposure to the supernatural, all of which we here at AI have handled quite extraordinarily." He took pride in the team here and their accomplishments. While he often complained about their laziness and inaccuracy, Sam was more than pleased that he and Kennedy had been sent here. It was where the heat of the battle was. The place where they could surely make a difference.
So long as he and his Slayer didn't end up dead. That was his motto.
The boy was still talking, so Sam offered both he and Mary another politely forced smile and attempted to hone in on the nonsense spewing from his mouth. The amusement on his face faded at the slightest when he was poked along his back, right along the area of his spinal column.
"I..." He blinked. The amusement was gone. "How did -" The scar there had always existed, but Sam couldn't exactly remember the details on how and when it had been created. He assumed it came along during one of their usual battles. He had been knocked out plenty of times, after all. But how did the boy know about it? Sam didn't often discuss his battle scars. What point was there to it? "That's nonsense. I've never died. Another creative little story, that is." The confusion on his face only existed monetarily. Sam sniffed, straightened up, and irritably glanced down at the unfamiliar belongings scattered before him. "Death isn't something to joke about, boy. Nor are souls, demons, and the Senior Partners. If you're going to tell lies, I suggest you find new material to play with. Using those subjects will only get you into trouble."