"That'd be a little ironic," Sam said, amused. "Survive the shovel-throwers, get killed by toxic fumes." It could happen, and he knew it, but he doubted it was going to. More than likely, they were just going to find out how long it took a microwave to melt a candle.
He could see the relief on Alan's face, and that was really worth all of it, not that he'd taken any exceptional personal risks in this case. Especially after hearing the description of how bad it had gotten. "Guess it's a good thing we worked quickly, before it could get that angry," he said. "How'd you get it to calm down to this?"
He figured there must have been something; if the darkness had still been at that point, it would have collapsed the house around their ears the moment it figured out what they were doing. Instead, they'd just gotten a few shadow puppets throwing things at them. Then something occurred to him, and he asked, "Or is it different because you're here in this... whatever reality this is?"
Reaching into the bag for his medical kit, he grabbed some tape and fastened the gauze to his shoulder so that he didn't have to hold it. The next stage was going to require him to work with both hands, after all. "Sure, I'll take a beer. Thanks."