'As far as sequels go...' mused Jiraiya dully, as surgeons worked frantically to keep his insides inside, 'this isn't quite... what I had in mind.' The worst beating he'd taken in his fifty-four long, hard years of life hadn't left him quite as dead as expected. He'd washed up on a strange shore, neither the panicked screeching of random bystanders nor the frantic rush to the hospital registering past the shock of massive trauma and blood loss. He was an island of calm battered by waves on all sides, the acceleration of time reducing the surrounding voices and faces to indistinct blurs. 'It's all... so tiresome,' he thought, closing his eyes.

- RGS -

Eventually he awoke, his shock at this surprising turn of events numbed by bonecrushing fatigue and copious painkillers. He let out a hoarse, rattling groan as the pain and fatigue finally registered, startling the nurse replacing the bevy of fluids on his IV stand. He gave Jiraiya a reassuring smile; Jiraiya returned a small grin, though it went unseen beneath the plaster and bandages.

Finishing his task, the nurse shot from the room like an arrow, fading calls for 'Dr. So-and-so to I-207' drifting in his wake. Jiraiya flexed his chakra. The warmth trickled through his body in fits and spurts, unrestricted but dangerously depleted. He shifted his downwards, across the full-body cast enveloping him. 'Nothing ventured...' he thought, testing the responses of his limbs. He regretted it immediately, releasing a hissing breath as the attempt set flares of pain rolling across his body.

'Ah..' He let out a wheezing laugh, a wry smile on his face. 'No point to chakra seals when even a stiff breeze could kill me..' He passed the time until the nurse's return by counting the holes in the cheap ceiling tiles. He didn't have to wait long, thankfully.

The nurse's name, it turned out, was Ostrinus, and Dr. So-and-so was actually Dr. Soderlandt. She gazed intently at a glowing pane of glass while the nurse guided Jiraiya through a quick concussion check. Ostrinus stepped away, apparently satisfied with the results, and gave the doctor a quick nod as he headed out the door. Dr. Sonderlandt stepped forward, brushing errant gray locks to the side as she took a seat to Jiraiya's left. He opened his mouth to talk, but was cut off by a raised hand and a stern gaze.

"Your trachea's crushed, so don't say a word," she began. "I don't like to be held liable for patients overstraining themselves, and I don't like repeating myself, so I'm going to talk for just a bit, and you're going to listen. It's the least you can do for one of the concerned citizens who helped save your life, yeah?" She tilted her head downward, light reflecting from her glasses ominously.

He snorted, and grinned. 'Haunted by hardass doctors even beyond the grave, huh?'

Not waiting for an answer, Sonderlandt soldiered on. "Fished out of the harbor with a left arm missing; right arm, broken; right leg, broken; left leg, broken; shoulders, broken; ribs, broken; thirteen puncture wounds, two dozen compound fractures, over a hundred hairline fractures... It'd be shorter to list what wasn't injured, at this rate."

"Your aura's already unlocked, so you spent eighty-three hours under the knife." She removed her glasses, exposing dark bags under her eyes as she massaged the bridge of her nose. "That's a new record for this hospital, by the way, maybe even the kingdom. Then, only two days in a coma most of us expected you'd never wake up from, despite being pumped full of enough painkillers and antibiotics to kill an ursa. It's a miracle you're even alive, to be frank," she said, raising her eyes from her glass contraption to meet his gaze, and Jiraiya was surprised to see a spark of relief in those tired eyes.

"Our number one priority now," she continued, "yours and mine, is to make sure you make as complete a recovery as possible. I'm sure you have a lot of questions. We do too. Most of them will have to wait until you're well enough to talk, but if you're feeling up to it there are a few brief ones we can take care of now, yeah? Blink once for 'yes', twice for 'no'."

She cocked an eyebrow, expectant. He blinked.

"Do you know where you are now?"

Two blinks.

"Do you remember anything prior to receiving your injuries?"

One blink.

"Do you remember how you received them?"

Another blink.

"Where?"

Yet another blink. He heard her mumble something about post-traumatic amnesia into her glass square.

"Is your present condition the result of a grim attack?"

He paused, unsure for a moment what the doctor meant. He blinked twice.

Sonderlandt grimaced, but said nothing.

'Was that the wrong answer?'

He didn't get a chance to find out, as what sounded like an alarm tone blared from the curious device in her hands.

"I'm sorry. I have a surgery to prepare for." She gave him a tired smile. "Here, before I go..." She reached to the side of the bed, pulling out a simple remote attached to a cable. "Big red one calls the nurse," she said, as she pressed it gently into his hand. "Under that you've got the controls for the lights, curtains, then the TV."

She stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white coat. "In any case, the worst is behind you now. Welcome to Vale General. I'm sorry your stay here couldn't be under better circumstances, but we'll have you back in shape in no time, yeah?" The door shut behind her as she left the room.

He glanced down at the remote clutched in his pallid fingers. When he was a kid, televisions were novelties, massive beasts with cramped screens and tinny audio whose only purpose was to show off their owners' wealth. By the time he'd struck paydirt as a successful porn purveyor, TVs were cheap enough that there was at least one in every household, and even then he never cared enough to buy one. There was always something more important demanding his attention. 'Better than nothing, I guess.'

Jiraiya turned the TV on. He thought it was a joke at first, some kind of dumb science fiction film, but instinct and experience put together the pieces that his brain would not. He flicked to the next channel, then the next, a sinking feeling building in his stomach as the clicking of the remote grew faster and more frantic. The clothes were wrong, the names and places and faces were wrong. Wrongest of all was the shattered moon, its blasted surface staring down at him from behind Casey Cobalt as she delivered her on-site report on dairy shortages in Mantle, from behind the too-animated leads of some sappy romcom two channels over, and from behind the podium of an awards ceremony as some red-headed brat received death glares from the first loser and a standing ovation from the crowd.

He turned the TV off, eyes glancing despondently to the window as he fought to keep his heartbeat under control and there it was again, staring down at him from behind the frame of his own damn window. His heart rate spiked, bringing a flood of nurses spilling through his door. Jiraiya didn't have the energy to care.

'...I should've stuck to counting tiles.'

He slept poorly that night, beset by dreams of war and peace and men with golden antlers.

AN: This might be exactly what you think it is.