He could, couldn't he? He's not sure he's the mustache type of guy though. Stubble, sure, bit of a beard. Maybe he ought to leave the mustaches to the cowboys.

Mostly, by the time they're inside somewhere out of the cold, he's just glad for it. Fucking chills you to the bone out there. Makes everything ache the more the cold sets in, much more than he'd like to admit. He takes a drag off the cigarette once they can manage to keep them lit, idly paces, idly peeks over Doc's shoulder.

When he's called out, he holds up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Hey, sorry. Just not a hell of a lot to do in here, you know?"

And his mind's racing, wondering if each new ache or pain is something to worry about or if it's just the cold that's settled in bone deep. "I'll give you your privacy though, write out all those confessions. Guess it's good to get them out sometimes. Never been too big on it, myself."