It had been a busy night and while Raylan had gotten drunk, somehow, out of the drinkers, it seemed he was the least drunk of the lot. He didn't know what triggered Doc's attempt to drown by moonshine the last half of the night, but he'd made sure the good Doctor was settled into the couch where he'd fallen and even sat with him for a few minutes, which felt more like hours, drifting in and out of his concern that he was going to wake up to puke.

But however long it was, finally, it was long enough that Raylan could push to his feet and cover Doc up with the blanket they kept on the couch before making his way up the stairs as quietly as he could. It wasn't as quiet as he'd like, but at least he wasn't clopping.

With only his jacket for a blanket, hooked over his shoulder, Raylan stopped in front of Malcolm's door and stood there a long moment, replaying everything over in his head and hoping that maybe Malcolm was already asleep. He turned the knob silently and cracked the door open to look in. Malcolm's form was still and steady, so he slipped in and shut the door behind him.

If he could just get over to the mattress on the floor...