Tim and everyone else that was missing. The lists were too long; Raylan would be looking for any faces, regardless of if he recognized them. How many bodies would he find? Something he was trying to prepare himself for. "Shoulda dug more graves," he lamented quietly before nodding and heaving a heavy sigh that signaled him talking himself up into moving again.

It was good that Doc agreed with him on Malcolm, Raylan wasn't fully trusting of himself these days and the confirmation that his thinking was sound was relieving. Henry didn't have to worry about being useful when he couldn't walk; he was invaluable, no matter his state. Raylan wondered if he knew that he was the one Raylan would be running back to when the day was done, just to set up close by and keep an eye on him.

"I'll keep an eye out, I promise," he said, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt to stand there for a long second, studying Doc's form. "Don't go no where, okay?"

--

Raylan had been gone for several hours and when he walked back into the schoolhouse, black hat in hand, he was filthy and looking significantly worse for the wear. As soon as he'd finished burying them with Tim, he'd tried to talk the sniper into coming back with him but had been refused. Maybe that had something to do with the way that Raylan burst into the room, eyes wild and eager to land over on Doc Henry.

"Henry. You're here." Here and not really dead. His face shifted through relief, heartbreak, grief and, after a glance around like he could find Malcolm in the same breath, finally, a pointed purpose as he strode over and knelt down on one knee, the other folded up against his chest as he grabbed for Doc's left hand. "Let me see your hand."

Not exactly polite, he knew, but politeness was for sane people and Raylan felt far from that.