If he had more of a head to think about it, John would've warned the bloke first. As it stands, he can't really be bothered with how he's feeling. He waves him down when he notices his standing. That just looks exhausting.

"Not magic, actually," he mumbles but still tries to grin a little. It falls a bit short. He taps at his wrist at the band there. He's only got a soft, thin robe on from where he managed to get out of his other clothes earlier. "Called a Time Courier. Doesn't do much but make fancy doorways at the moment but still nifty."

The idea of getting settled on something soft again sounds far too enticing and once Eames motions him down he's, sure enough, crawling over to lay chest to chest with him. He drags his own blanket into the mix, feeling very much like a child in the moment. He hasn't felt so miserable to do something like this for about as many years, he supposes.

"This resurrection business is about as bloody awful as I thought it'd be."