Raylan looked over at the gunslinger at that. If he was any less tired, he might have been surprised but they'd all been through the ringer the last few days. Sleep was short for everyone; running for your life tended to do that to a soul, to say nothing of the injuries and pain those caught in the fire were having to deal with. Raylan's eyes dropped back to the floor. Even if he could argue it, doing so would be pointless. Henry knew.

"I want to," he whispered, desperately wishing for just a few more hours of that peace they had previously managed to carve out for each other in the houses that they stole nights from. Those nights where Raylan let go and realigned himself after soaking in simple, relatively safe existence. "I can't. Had a new nightmare last night, in the five minutes I managed to steal, an' now I can't see anythin' except 1970's lapels and blood."

Raylan shook his head again. "And I gotta find Tim. Once I have though, either way.." He planned on coming back here, finding a nearby corner and trying again. Trying again before he went fully insane. He knew how important sleep was, helped by moonshine or not.

"'Sides. Malcolm needs help pullin' in food. He's handlin' all this.. better than I am, if I'm honest." There was a note of pride in there - look at how far Malcolm had come.