Henry muttered and twisted in his sleep, gripping at things that were long gone more often than not. It wasn't often that Raylan woke up in the night enough to watch the gunslinger sleep, but when he started out of one of his own nightmares, he found a reassuring peace in it. It gave him time to think and openly admire the soft features sleep gave them all. He supposed it was only fair then.

"You oughta," he muttered with a deep breath of Henry's clean, musky scent. Raylan knew bad men. Henry wasn't one of them, otherwise there was no way in hell he'd be curled up on the man like they were laying out in a field or something, secure as a lamb next to a lion without his gun. The fingers in his hair, the steady rhythm of breathing underneath him reassured him that it was fine to drift off here and so he did, sighing out his own rough murmur of "G'night Henry."

He figured he might be woken up in a bit so that Henry could shift and get comfortable for the night, which he would do when nudged, but if any extra words slipped out as he sunk back into their warmth, it wasn't his fault.