Rather than engage in what would probably be the most awkward trick-or-treating experience of his life (and this is saying something, considering that he grew up in Alabama, the state in which every holiday must involve copious fireworks and firearms), he'd prefer to not tail the chick who nearly put a bullet in his skull, and is probably still secretly hoping he'll drop dead any day now. Well, that makes two of them.

"Yeah, okay." He fiddles with some of the fraying threads of his pillowcase to give his hands something to do. "Think the mansion hates me anyway. Got three raw eggs to the face this night alone."

Play it off. It's fine. It's cool. Not the first time he's been threatened, though the gunpoint thing made a nice change of pace. And Max...well, he can't really say how it'd feel to have someone from his world he gives a damn about, not unless Amy ever showed up. But if Amy were here - yeah, he'd probably do some pretty intense shit for her too. So. Fair enough.