When younger-Jack-from-the-pseudo-past comes calling, it’s all he can do to not pick up on the first of three deep, brassy whistles. Like a siren’s call in the dark, he knows by the way the hairs on the back of his neck raise and the roots of his teeth itch that it’s going to be that – that kid. Because he is a kid, all feverishly-bright eyes and easy, taunting smiles. Loose limbs and energy to spare, with time still dogging at his heels, waiting to catch him unawares sooner or later.
Jack grunts– having his head tipped back makes the room spin in dizzy circles and he squeezes his older self’s shoulder to keep from falling– ( further down the rabbit hole ). He snorts and immediately regrets it as the flood of copper coats the back of his tongue and throat.
“At least nothing’s exploded yet.” He manages to slur before the towel is shoved in his face. He makes an muffled indignant sound, still in Jack’s lap and he hates the creeping feeling that he’s a child being scolded. But he obeys the order, mostly because he doesn’t feel like passing out today and there was already enough crap in his system to fuck with his health; he didn’t need to add inter-dimensional fainting to that list, thank you very much.
He feels less likely to slip through space and time with Jack’s hands on him, and mumbles more noises through the towel to his collar. He groans loudly at old hotness’ words.
“Don’t friggin’ jinx it.” Mentally adds head-exploding to the list as well.
Jack curls in close, letting the heat and feel of his other self ground him and take his mind away from it’s attempt to merge with his surroundings. He slumps there until the bleeding slows and he feels drained and like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
“Mmm– I don’t know about you, but I could really use a distraction right now.”