Buffy was some kind of psychic then? Sam's mouth twisted downward into a sort of facial shrug. He probably shouldn't have been as surprised by the fact as he was. If there was demon power involved, then yeah. That made sense. He had gotten visions before too, after all. And Ava had those dreams of hers. It seemed that psychic powers and demons were a common thing all around then. Except Buffy's case? It seemed a lot more extreme. How did one manage to witness every single fight of every single Slayer throughout history? How many Slayers had there been all in all, exactly? This was the sort of thing that left Sam wanting to know more, but he knew that pressing Buffy with a fleet of never-ending questions at once would probably put her off. "So, uh, you have these dreams a lot? All the time?" Sam didn't know how comfortable he would be having those types of images stuck in his head all the time. He knew all about nightmares, but that was just taking it to a whole new level, wasn't it?
Sam winced. "Christ, that's messed up." The entire scenario sounded completely fucked. It certainly wasn't something that Sam was personally interested in ever witnessing, dream or not. "How do you deal with that crap running through your head all the time?" He frowned, then ducked his head back into the fridge again. Coke or beer? Sam reached out and wrapped his long fingers around the neck of a beer bottle. He dragged it from the shelf it had been set on and nudged the refrigerator door shut with his elbow. "I mean, that can't be something that you get used to." Or maybe it was. For her. Sam didn't think he could deal with it himself, personally. Which only led to him wondering as to how many of those Slayer types were actually mental stable. Did they have institutions for people like that? How could they contain someone with that much strength and agility? Sam had seen Buffy fight before. Something told Sam that if that mental stability thing had ever been a problem, whoever was stuck with the unfortunate duty of containing a mad Slayer probably had one hell of a job over their heads.
Sam twisted the metal cap off the bottle and dropped it onto the counter. The sound of metal hitting tile gently tipped it's way through the kitchen as Sam quietly leaned against the counter a couple feet away from Buffy herself was settled. He lifted the bottle and took a sip from it, then squinted over at Buffy quietly. "Are you all right?" Considering the dream she had just explained to him, he couldn't help but wonder. It was obviously enough to put her out of bed, so she clearly wasn't well enough to just roll over and go back to sleep again.