Strangely enough, the second time Chase woke up wasn't as initially unpleasant as the first. There was something familiar about being wrapped up the way he was, like he'd cocooned himself in his own blankets again, and would wake up back in his apartment warm and safe. Hopefully on a weekend.
Morning? It wasn't morning already again, was it?
Whatever sense of security there was dissipated as he once again returned to reality, realizing that he couldn't move anything. When he tried, something pulled and stretched and ached. He tried to speak, but the only sound that left him was an uncertain hum against whatever was pressed into his face. Another few seconds brought him straight back into the room, and he glanced down at himself to see the gray mess he was now. At first it was more confusion than panic that hit him, and he shifted, testing his constraints to absolutely no avail.