"...were-bears." Judging by how Will's eyebrows arch up to hide under those shaggy bangs of his, he's never even considered this as a possibility before. Give him a moment to go through all the other possibilities of were out there. Were-jaguars? Were-penguins? Were-werewolves?

It's silly, because stranger danger and everything, but Will's tense shoulders relax a little at the knowledge that Sam isn't actively trying to get away from him. He worries. He worries about strangers and family members and friends alike. Sometimes he just gets sick of worrying. But he nods placidly, sitting back in his seat, the picture of patience.

"Okay." Then, after a pause, shyly earnest: "I don't think your pants are horrible."