Chasing Cars | A Grey's Anatomy Fanfiction

.- T W E N T Y - F O U R -.

Cristina •

"V-fib! Internal paddles," I say, with a shield of fake confidence. I could kill my person's love of her life. Focus Cristina.

"Charge to 10." The paddles thunk, and the heart is still. A long tone emits from the monitor. I begin massaging the heart with one hand, praying and hoping that it fills with blood and restarts with the new repair. My eyes float to the monitor quickly. Asystole. Damn. I look down, and place both of my hands in the chest cavity. I sandwich the heart between both palms, working to get the muscle to pump blood again. Come on Derek. You don't get to die on me.

Derek •

My eyes open to a bright operating room. I look around, and the room is clear except for the surface I am laying on in the middle. I am on the table, clothed in the same blue button down from this morning, except there isn't even a small drop of blood on it. I look around, and the room is uncharacteristically silent.

I am most likely dead.

I place three fingers on my wrist, looking for a sign of life through my pulse.

I am dead.

I push myself off the table and leave the operating room. Might as well try to figure out what the hell is going on.

I look through the empty halls, and see nothing. I pace through the corridors, and everything around me is silent except my footsteps. There is no intercom mumbling things throughout the hospital, no doctors rushing patients into operating rooms. I walk on the catwalk, and the floor is clean, except for a scuff mark on the left side of the risen path.

I step down the curving stairs, and look around the once cramped, now spacious floor. The ringing of phones is nonexistent. The usual hum of the elevators are gone. I hit the round button, but it doesn't illuminate as usual.

Then the doors part.

Meredith •

The paddles thunk.

"Damn. She won't stop coding."

"Asystole," April speaks. I restart compressions.

Ella •

The darkness disappears once again. I am not met with a ferryboat. I don't see Derek. Lines and edges become as crisp as they can in some dimly lit shoebox of a room. I am in an elevator, shown by the closed sliding metal doors and dark rows of white buttons.

Am I dead? Why the hell am I in an dark elevator?

I rest my hand on my chest, as it rises and falls. I am breathing, but I have no heart beat. My chest is silent except for the sounds of air entering and exiting my lungs. So I am maybe dead. Most likely dead. My skin is clear of blood and scars. My legs move freely and my muscles are not forced to work. I have a full head of chocolate hair, and I run my fingers through the left side, where it was shaven.

I am dead.

I see the world around me, enclosed by four walls tightly squeezing me in.

My stomach drops, and I am thrusted to the floor as the car falls. Everything is only accelerating downwards what feels like hundreds of floors.

Meredith •

"Mer, she is gone," April says, in doubt. "She has been down for too long."

The short and slow beeps caused by my gloved hands cease. I lift my blood stained palms off of her chest, and a long ominous tone surfaces.

She is dead.

The person who cared so much about others, even if they didn't even notice her, is dead. The person who stood in front of a gun for another life is dead. She she had metal shards in her brain. Metal shards. And now she is dead because I couldn't cauterize bleeders fast enough.