Snake Plissken was, notoriously, not the hugging type. He didn't like being touched at all to begin with, so hugging was absolutely out of the question. You didn't hug Snake Plissken if you wanted to keep both your arms. You just didn't.
Jack Burton, on the other hand? He loves hugs. He loves hugs and kisses and having his hair pet and every damn thing in between. Granted, he hadn't gotten to enjoy much of that since his first wife. She was a doll, but she was gone, and Jack Burton wasn't the kind of guy to just settle down anyways. He tries not to think about her.
Snake Plissken and Jack Burton are, admittedly, a pretty good team. Okay, a really good team... Okay, okay, fine, probably the best team in the history of cross-dimensional ass-kicking teams. They make a really, really good pair. It probably has to do with Jack's luck magic, whatever that really is. Neither of them are questioning it.
Neither of them are questioning the shrinking distance between them, either. Snake starts responding with full sentences instead of grunts. Jack starts to know when to back off. Hell, he even starts getting other people to back off when Snake gets fed up. Snake stops punching Jack in the face when he gets angry, and honestly Jack really appreciates that one. Anyways, why should they question it? You get close to people you kick ass with. Snake had been close to the soldiers he'd deployed with. Jack had been close to Wang. It comes with the job.
Jack starts to worry about his home dimension, though, as much fun as he's having running away from a whole herd of alternate dimension Snake Plisskens. What if his friends are looking for him? What if something happened to Miao Yin again and Wang needs his awesome, ass-kicky help? What excuse could he give? ...Admittedly, getting shot across dimensions by Lo Pan because the ghostly creep wanted to steal his life force is a pretty good excuse, and Wang would probably buy it, but Jack still feels bad. He decides to sit in the back of the truck and feel bad alone, because even if they're sort-of friends, Snake isn't a feelings guy.
Much to Jack's surprise, he's not alone for long before a pair of camo-clad legs stop in front of him. Snake stands silently, and when Jack says nothing in return he just sits down next to the truck driver. Jack hadn't expected anything like this from the even ass-kickier alternate universe kinda-him, but he's not complaining either. Snake stares at the opposite wall of the truck before finally starting to speak.
"You're worried about going home."
It's not really a question, but Jack nods anyways.
"That's normal. I worried about it too when I first left to be a soldier. What would happen when I got back, would anything bad have happened, if it had would I have been able to do anything if I'd stayed? Everyone asks themselves that."
"You sure know a lot." Jack sighs, pulling his knees up and resting his arms on them.
"I've seen a lot."
"I drive a truck. I screw everything up. You do...cool things. Badass things."
"I screw everything up too. Usually for other people. Sometimes for myself."
"Huh. I guess I really am you. Or you're me? Whatever." Jack smiles tiredly. It's a half-joke that isn't even funny, to either of them. Snake rolls his eye.
"You're the lucky one. You haven't gotten bitter about everything. Seems like most Snakes get bitter."
Right then, Jack Burton could've said a whole lot of things. He was thinking that some people like bitter, himself included, but he didn't say that. He decides that there's nothing really worth saying. Instead, he leans over, letting his head rest on Snake's shoulder. He's expecting to get pushed away, or punched, or yelled at, but Snake just lets him, still looking at the truck's other wall.
No sir, you didn't hug Snake Plissken, but sometimes a lucky son of a gun could lean on his shoulder, and Jack Burton is a famously lucky son of a gun.