Jermaine couldn't flip the switch as surely as Finn could, frozen in place as he stared.

"Jermaine!" He heard his mother call, brow knit. Finn was at her side, still sniffling, holding her hand. "Come on out for a moment, Jermaine!"

"Whaaaat?"

The ungrateful, unpleasant sound of his own voice made Jermaine's guts churn. Who knew how accurate it was -- everything else here was colored by his perception -- but Jermaine didn't have the presence of mind to remember that.

"Your brother needs you, son!"

He could see baby Finn wiping at his eye, looking miserable. But not just bored or frustrated by the subpar substitution of his favorite brother... he looked embarrassed. Out of place. Shy. It was strange and unpleasant, looking at the little kid who seemed determined to hang onto his mother's hand, hurt feelings soaking into his posture and expression.

... And then, everything began going in reverse. Quickly

"What the--" Jermaine turns to teenage Finn, looking at him with his finger on the clock. "What did you do?"

Like a wind up clock, the reversal slowed... then began again, in a haunting echo of the last five minutes.

“Finny, why don’t you hand mommy her neckerchief, sweetie?”