He's made a habit of that.

[Both those thats, really — friendly with suspect folks and feeling badly about things. But Will leaves it vague, the twist of lips giving away nothing. Despite all their appearances, Frederick Chilton and Will Graham were suspect people, even if only they and handful of others, past and present, knew it. Will more than his once psychiatrist, really; Will could harvest a man's organs, clean off, then go about his day without a soul being any the wiser. Chilton...he could possibly get there someday. And God save Will Graham if that ever happened.]

I woke up... [He looks off as though he has to actively think about it, as though the topic change is answering an earlier question about what he had to eat for dinner three nights before, and now he's finally remembering.] ...Sam was a very angry bull. I'd, uh, provoked him.

[Subconsciously, a hand comes up to gently rub over his chest, a gesture common with heartburn or feeling the heat or being crushed beneath angry bull hooves.]

Not my best idea.

[Chilton can put two and two together because hoo buddy Will has had a lot of bad fucking ideas and they both know it.]