As beaten and abused as both Tim and Raylan were after their evening, they were both on the left side of too exhausted to move, much less be any good to anyone. Not their plan when they went out there. Raylan, dressed only in his jeans, dirty undershirt and waterlogged watch, was a ragdoll in his chair, face drawn in his tiredness. He just needed a few hours rest, was all. A nap to make up for being up and working harder than he'd asked his body to ever work all night.

There was no chance of being comfortable enough for his naps to be restful in anyway so once Doc comes into the room, Raylan is awake again with a sharp breath as he cracks an eye that follows the gunslinger in front of him.

"Mm, I did. Day before yesterday, marked it on your calendar and all." As Doc kneels, Raylan unevenly pushes himself up with a pained breath, half an attempt to stop him. But the argument died in his throat as he finally saw his feet.

"I was tryin', you know," he murmured. "Storm didn't leave us any place to go, so we thought it might choose to destroy an important building to get to us.. Henry, I-." Last night it didn't sound crazy. In the calm, quiet morning of aftermath, it sounded insane. "I swear it was followin' me. And I couldn't bring it here. Couldn't have it.. set onto our houses. Endangerin' everyone else.." Raylan sighed softly. "I tried to stop us halfway up."

He was trying to be a Good Boy, he swears.