"Until they set in a headache or attach themselves to our legs." It wouldn't be pretty for anyone who wasn't used to it, but the Marshal's would get more than a little satisfaction from watching those two dumbasses run themselves screaming into a wall. Something to consider when spirits were low, anyway.

How, exactly, they'd gotten to Tim being against the wall, Raylan wasn't sure but it didn't matter. Tim was the one that needed the solid resting spot more and the idea that Raylan should just take up a spot next to them and break the configuration they'd settled into was killed before it rose.

"Nothin' that won't heal," Raylan scoffed as he forced his hands to unclench so he could peel off his soaked flannel and the tshirt underneath, dropping them with a sickening splat on the ground. "Soon as we get back to Phillips Drive, you're lettin' someone take a look at you. My feet'll be fine, but it won't matter if we catch our death or freeze. C'mon," he said, wiping his face and sliding a hand through his hair to settle it back on his head. "We can't get rid of our pants but we can ditch the shirts, leave one for you to settle back against."

Wet clothes could just as well be the death of them as anything else.