"A supermoose, then." Will says it like this is a thing. Like everyone knows about the supermoose, that grow big and broad in Canada, up near the Arctic Circle. "Supermoose versus bear truck." He's recovering from his quick reversion into whatever that was, a relic of something he doesn't like to acknowledge. Will isn't old enough or emotionally mature enough to fully compartmentalize his reactions, and there's been too much in the last twelve-and-some years for him to react to. Even worse, he doesn't seem to realize what sorts of buttons he pushes, tiny and nervous and wide-eyed and curious. Someone's going to want to put him in their pocket and feel him on cake crumbs at this rate.

Fortunately it's a universal kid truth that having An Adult get down to an eye level is one of the most reassuring things that can be done. The world isn't made for the small, so any adjustment is heartily appreciated. Will's back to that genuine, bright grin, reaching out to shake Sam's hand, scrunching his nose up like he expects the ink to -- tickle, maybe. "Sorry for dropping, um...all these." The change is put back on the table, and Will stands and, bless him, braces his feet to help her up.

"Well, and then what?" This is a train of logic he's following all the way to the station, Sam.