Will's still poking at his knee, but he grins a little at the fact that the enormous talking truck thinks a bit of human blood is "gross". He glances over his shoulder, at the open door, like he's debating the merits of climbing inside. Is that rude? That's probably rude.

Still, even though it's still only early September, and he's been outside for mere minutes, he's waifish enough that he's starting to shiver, huddling down where he sits. Sam's voice has him looking back up at her, brow furrowing for a moment before he speaks.

"Can you do other things? Fix...bigger things?"