As you once again woke up from the doctor's defibrillating you, it was at least the twentieth time you died this month. Ever since you were sick to the point of no recovery, your parents used that to their advantage to sap money off the hospital, leaving you behind.

"Not yet, niño bonito~" Bran teased you, being that person who's been preventing your death ever since. He may be the grim reaper, and only you having to see him since you were on your deathbed, but he was company, at least.