Will's hands grip the wheel as he drives along the dark and snowy street, he has to reach over and turn the volume up on his radio, some broadcaster laughing about something he couldn't even make himself care about, but it keeps Will from zoning out and likely ramming his already dingy truck into a tree. It doesn't help that the images of today's case are flashing in his head. A row of people, buried in the dark, mushrooms growing out of their skin. And the man who woke up, the ragged gasp of breath he let out as the shock left his body, likely leaving him in a pain that Will couldn't even imagine. He was loaded into an ambulance, but died on the way there. Will couldn't save him.

He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to physically push the thoughts from his head. Will realizes that this is likely more dangerous than zoning out and he reluctantly forces his eyes to open again, his attention going back to the road, his lips tugged into a small frown and hands now twitching against the steering wheel. Then, his attention is grabbed by a pair of headlights stopped at the side of the road, almost completely enveloped in the falling snow.

Before he can even think about it, Will's truck slows and he pulls his truck to the shoulder in front of the stopped car. He puts his truck into park and zips up his coat, pulling on his gloves as well before pushing open the door to his truck and stepping out. Upon further inspection, he sees smoke billowing up from the hood of the car and how the snow that lands there immediately melts due to the heat.

His eyes find the potential owner of the car, noticing their light jacket and the evident confusion on their face. Will shoves his hands into his pockets and averts his gaze, playing it off as if he's simply going to examine the car again.

"Need some help?" He offers, reaching out a gloved hand to touch the edge of the hood of the car, waiting for permission before opening it.