Asuma woke up for eight horrible seconds in water that felt sub-arctic before gnarled fingers grabbed the back of his neck and blurred the world away. There was just time to catch the barest glimpse of candlelight and glowing seals, to feel a flickering edge of gentle green chakra and moving energy; he smelled antiseptic and incense on the one frantic breath he managed to draw, then there was nothing but black.

The second time he woke up, he was flat on his back in a brilliant matrix of interlocking chakra webs, and staring straight up into the nostrils of a chanting monk. After a surreal moment of confusion, he managed to tip his chin down long enough to cast a fuzzy glance over the room. Red stone walls, flagstone floor; ink seals rippling over every very naked inch of himself, clustered heavily towards the left side of his ribcage--

He saw raw flesh, draining pus, streaking crimson lines networking over his chest, and opened his mouth to scream. Hands flashed in his peripheral vision, calloused fingers touched his throat, and roaring darkness crashed over his head before he finished inhaling.

The third time he woke up, he stayed completely still until he was absolutely sure no one was about to get handsy. When nothing touched him but the weight of what felt like bed linen, he risked cautiously cracking open one eyelid. Blinding sun greeted him like a cheerful pickaxe to the retina, yanking a whispery curse through dry lips. He winced and dragged a hand up to shield his eyes.

Then he realized he was alive.

Not only alive, but warm--not scorching--and dry and blood-free, dressed in a comfortable yukata and lying on a futon that had been carefully arranged to take full advantage of the glorious sunbeam slicing across an airy room. Nothing hurt; he couldn't even feel a twinge from his side.

After a long, long minute, Asuma licked his lips and revised his first impression.

"Crap," he mumbled softly, and covered his face with one hand. "I'm dead."