hello, hello, anybody out there? 'cause i don't hear a sound. alone, alone. i don't really know where the world is, but i miss it now. i'm out on the edge, and i'm screamin' my name like a fool at the top of my lungs. sometimes when i close my eyes i pretend i'm all right but it's never enough. cause my echo, echo, is the only voice coming back. shadow, shadow, is the only friend that i have.

- echo, jason walker

"It's all right," that was the thing he always said. Whenever he recieved a victim, however badly injured, he always said the same words to them, the same sentences he'd rehersed over and over, as though he were auditioning for a play. He'd looked in the mirror countless times and said them with the most honest face he could muster. He had to make sure that not only the victims believed it, but he believed it too. "You're going to be okay. My name is Charles Xavier, and I'm here to save you."

The man is badly injured. According to the nurse that just rushed him in, he'd been in a car accident. There were shards of glass poking out of his left arm, and half of his face was covered with his own blood. He cringed when Charles reached out to turn his chin upwards, causing the young medic to flinch back. "I-I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

The answer was brief, and to the point. "Nnh-no."

"All right," Charles let out a sharp breath and then wheeled the man on the stainless steel table into the light of the small lamp in which protruded from the wall. "It's going to be all right. I've save hundreds of people, and I can save you too. You just have to trust m-"

An interruption caused Charles to freeze in his tracks. "You don't have to lie, you know."

"W-what?"

The man looked at him, his foggy blue eyes tired and almost strained. "How am I supposed to trust you," he pointed out, his voice coming out hushed, as though it pained him to talk. "When all you've done so far is lie to me."

"I-I'm going to make sure you come out alive," Charles repeated, using different words this time. He didn't like the way they came out of his mouth; they weren't as rehersed as the others. They sounded so much like a lie to him that it physically made him cringe at his own words. "I'm going to do my best, okay? I might not have saved everyone, but I -"

"You don't have to pretend I'm special. I'm like any other victim. It's the end of the world. You see shit like me every day."

Ignoring his pesimism, Charles used his metal tweezers to pull the glass shards out of the man's arm. "I don't have anything to put you under, I'm afraid," Charles told him, but the man didn't seem too surprised - or disappointed, for that matter. "You're going to have to be brave for me, all right?"

"I'm not a child."

"I never said you were."

A moment's hesitation went by. Charles stared into the man's eyes, his foggy blue eyes, in which seemed to pierce right through him. Suddenly, there was a voice that interrupted his thoughts. "Are you going to do something about the gash in my forehead, or am I going to have to mend it myself?"

"Oh! Yes. Right," Charles rushed around, accidentally knocking his tweezers to the ground. "I'm sorry, ah, what's your name?"

"Does that really matter?"

"It matters to me."

A moment passed by, and Charles began dabbing the wound with a cloth. The man needed stitches, that was clear, but he wasn't sure how many stitches he needed. The guy wasn't in the worst shape, and there was a limited amount of stitches for people like that. Swallowing, Charles was assessing the amount of care this man needed to at least survive when a deep voice told him, "Erik."

"Sorry?"

"My name," the man finally surrendered. "Erik."

"Well, Erik, I'm going to make sure you come out alive."

Charles sometimes wished he smoked. Despite that fact that he thought it to be disgusting and it cost far too much money, it looked like it kept everyone who smoked calm. He watched some of the other paramedics take a drag, and it looked as though they were relaxed and calm for the first time since the President of the United States looked his country in the eye and told them that it was truly the end of the world.

Six months later, Charles Xavier, a survivor in the apocolypse, rubbed his left eye and admired the smog building in the air and the burning towers in the distance. New York City was the worst place to make a home during the end of the world, but a place was a place, and Charles found his life rebuilt here. With his little medical training - he was halfway through med school when the President made his famous Ending Address - he decided to become one of those end-of-the-world paramedics that donated their time to saving the idiots in which tried to commit suicide during the end.

Then again, there were perks. Perks to being an inexperienced paramedic who barely knew how to knit in stitches or clean a deep cut.

He got to save people like Erik Lehnsherr.

Of course, that was what he learned after the fact. Erik Lehnsherr, his age ranging somewhere between twenty five and thirty five, was a heroic young man who refused to admit to the legend in which he'd built himself. His car accident in which he was rushed to the nearest hospital was the result of him driving through a building in order to get a family out of a falling building.

None of it made sense, really. Charles sometimes wondered why anyone bothered anymore.

Maybe Erik had the reason he'd been looking for.

"That was amazing."

Erik Lehnsherr, with a few stitches in his forehead and a large bandage covering up the wounds that shards of glass had left on his left arm, turned around at the comment. Of course it'd be meant for him; nothing else was amazing left in this damned old world except for the people who tried to use what little strength and resolve they had left on the well being of others. "Sorry?"

Charles Xavier, who was on standby and currently leaning against the brick wall outside the hospital - a wall protecting a metal monument, a tribute to the fallen, in which lay within - half smiled at the man who's life he just saved. "You drove through a building in order to save a family," he told the man, as though Erik didn't know what he'd done, and it was something completely new. "You're one of those damn idiots that think they can save everyone, but somehow, manage to save most everyone."

"And you're a paramedic in which has no clue that he's been lying to every single patient that he's taken in. Do you think just because you sit in front of the mirror and reherse the lines over and over again, it makes them true?"

A deep red filled Charles' cheeks. "Well - uh - No. I just think telling them to people makes them more calm."

Erik actually barked a laugh. "You're ridiculous. Would it make you feel better?"

"...Yes."

A moment of silence passed. "You said your name was Charles Xavier, right?" Erik inquired, and said almost-paramedic nodded. "How long have you been doing this, Paramedic Xavier?"

"Charles," the man retorted, though not unkindly. "A month after the Ending Address. How long have you been saving life?"

"A minute after the Ending Address," Erik answered, turning his entire body to face the paramedic instead of just twisting his head so that he could at least see him. "I was in a cafe, and there was widespread panic. I tried to get everyone out all right. There were four bodies when everyone evacuated the shop."

"You can't save everyone, ah, Erik."

The man said nothing, nothing to deter Charles from calling him by his first name, nothing to agree with him, nothing to disagree with him. He merely stared, and then muttered something.

"Sorry?"

"Moira MacTaggart. Hank McCoy. Sean Cassidy. Alex Summers."

"Who are they?"

"The four people that died on the first day."

Charles swallowed hard. None of the names sounded familiar; then again, he didn't live in New York City at the time of the Ending Address. He'd been happily living in Concord, New Hampshire, but decided to leave. He couldn't bare to hang around and watch the people in which he'd grown up with die off. "I-I'm sorry, if that means anything to you." he offered.

"It does," the corner of Erik's mouth tilted up a little bit. "I don't hope to see you around."

Charles' heart sank. Was he that uninviting? "Oh. All right."

Erik smirked, all the sort of sentimental gone from his expression. "I mean because it's a hospital, dummkopf. Obviously I would want to see you again."

Charles brightened up. "Oh! Oh. Okay. Sorry."

"See you around, kid."

The second time they met was a mass gathering, three weeks later. One of the shelter buildings had collapsed, and killed a large group of people, including Charles' childhood friend, Raven Darkholme. He hadn't been too crushed about it, but he still felt the burden of losing a friend to carry on his shoulders. As he weaved through the crowd to try and get to the monument, to try and read his friend's name, he accidentally tripped on nothing and found himself toppling atop another man.

The man turned; he was big and bulky and built head to toe with muscles. Charles gaped, open mouthed, and then backed up as quickly as he could. "I'm s-so sorry, I didn't m-mean to -"

"Excuse me, kid?" the man snarled, showing his meaty fist and getting right in Charles' face.

In an effort to escape, Charles stumbled back, and bumped into another red faced man who looked as though he were about to kill someone. He soon found himself on the ground, shuffling backwards away from the two men as quickly as he could. Before he could get up and scramble away, however, he found himself bumping into the legs of another man. Charles swallowed hard, knowing this would be his undoing, and looked upward.

Instead, what he saw was the familiar face of an old friend.

"Uh, 'scuse me," one of the two men said plainly, as if having a conversation about killing someone was plain and normal. Then again, in this world turned to shit, it probably was. "That guy has no concept 'ah manners. Do yah mind backing up so we can teach 'im some?"

The man in which Charles had bumped into, unmistakably the heroic Erik Lensherr, instead frowned. "Sorry, boys, but this is an old friend of mine. I'd appreciate it if you left him alive?"

The two men exchanged glances. "Fine. 'Nything for you," the second man replied, and then they were gone, back into the crowd.

Erik helped Charles to his feet. "Y-you just saved my life."

"I guess that makes us even now."

"Those men were going to kill me -"

"Yes..."

"- and you stopped them."

"Terrific, Charles. You grasped the concept of the situation."

Charles scowled at him. "But why would you do that?" he asked. "We're not really... old friends. Are we?"

"I suppose we are," Erik replied, patting Charles' shoulder gently to try and get a little bit of dirt off it. It wasn't his nicest shirt, a old white half-sleeve that was littered with old, washed out stains of blood from his profession, but it was a shirt all the same, and it would be even less presentable with dirt on it. "We've met before. We've had a conversation before. If that doesn't make us old friends, I don't know what does."

After a moment, Charles simply dipped his head. "Yeah. I, um, thank you for saving me. I really appreciate it."

"It's no problem," he replied. "If you're in trouble, I suggest staying close to me. Half the people in this town owe me favors."

"Thanks, but I'm probably not going to get in trouble often," Charles lied. "Good bye, then."

He left before Erik had the chance to answer.

Unlike their previous time gap, Charles and Erik reunited two days later. Charles was on standby, and milling around the hospital, trying to get the image of that woman he'd just attempted to save - and failed, obviously - who had a steel metal pole shoved through her stomach. Apparently, she owed too many debts to too many people, and they decided it was time to pay up. She had a six year old daughter, and nobody had any idea what would happen to her.

Charles imagined she'd probably be payment to the bastards that killed her mother.

He turned and corner and came face to face with a young man and a lunch tray. The lunch tray clattered on the floor, thankfully only flipping the salad in which was contained in a, well, container, on it's side. Charles let out a cry of "Oh dear!" and then dropped to his stomach, picking up both the tray and the salad. "I'm so, so sorry. I was thinking and I wasn't looking and -"

He went to give the tray back to the young man when he froze. "Are you stalking me now, Charles Xavier?" asked Erik Lehnsherr with something of a smirk tilting the side of his mouth.

"N-no," Charles denied, looking down, desperately trying to avoid his gaze. Biting his lip, Charles turned back and tried to act defense. "I work here, remember? If a-anyone is stalking anyone... y-you would be stalking me!"

After a moment of Charles trying to avoid Erik's gaze and Erik looking rather smug, Erik told him in his smooth tone, "You proud of yourself?"

"I am indeed."

"Do I make you nervous, Charles?"

"N-no."

Grinning, Erik placed the salad into Charles' hands. "I bought you lunch," he replied. And then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, the mysterious heroic man has disappeared.

Charles remained, open mouthed, with a salad sitting dormant in his hands.

Crash!

Charles whirled around at the sound. He'd been walking to the hospital from his house, trying to psyche himself up for the horror and the blood in which lay beyond him when he saw the car smash into a wall. Immediately, onlookers began to seek around the car. Two young women, teenagers Charles guessed, were helped out of the car. The back seat. Who was driving the car, then?

"Help!" cried one of the men who was trying to get the driver out. "Someone yet a medic!"

Heart in his throat, Charles sprinted over to the man. "I'm a paramedic," he said out of the side of his mouth as he was pushing said man aside, looking into the car. "Is he alive or has -" He stopped cold.

The man in the driver's seat was Erik Lehnsherr.

Charles' heart immediately began to race. Jesus, of all people, what did it have to be Erik? "Erik, wake up. It's me. It's Charles. I'm right here, so please, wake up again," Erik's eyelids fluttered, and Charles began to see the foggy blue eyes in which lay within. Said man groaned, and his fingers twitched on his left hand, in which was still gripping the wheel. "That's right, Erik. That's good. Can you tell me where you're hurt?"

As Charles ripped open the car door and leaned over the body of his friend, attempting to tear the seatbelt off, Erik spoke lowly. "Can't feel m'leg. I t-think it's g'one."

Turning to inspect the leg in which was buried beneath the car in which had crumbled, Charles shook his head. "No, Erik, it's just crushed. Other people have been called, but all you have to do is hang on for me, okay? I'm not going to let you die."

Erik didn't answer, for once. No witty remark. Not clever statement. Charles chewed anxiously on his lip when he finally got the seatbelt off Erik, and then threw the metal covered in blood aside. He could hear the sound of the ambulance in the distance, possibly the only one they had left.

"Charles?"

The voice was weak, distance. Charles turned instantly, back to his patient in the few moments before the stretcher came to take him away. "What is it, Erik? Stay awake for me, okay?"

Erik smiled lightly. "Stop lying."

Somebody tapped Charles on the shoulder. Said paramedic leapt up from his light sleep, his eyes awake but bleary. "I-I wasn't sleeping," he said, almost in a groan, and then saw it was one of his fellow paramedics, Sebastian Shaw. "Okay, I was. Any news on Erik Lehnsherr."

"That's why you've been waiting here all night?" in responce, Charles nodded quickly, and then returned his eyes to the door where behind it, the only doctors left in New York City were operating on one Erik Lehnsherr. "Go home, Charles. Get some sleep. This guy doesn't deserve this much attention. Do you even know him that well, anyway?"

"I saved his life once," Charles replied. "Then, he saved mine. I don't know, he's just... he's the hero this world needs. He's almost lost his life twice from saving someone else - that I know of. The ending world would lose a great hero if he were to go."

"You mean you would lose a great hero," Shaw pointed out, hitting his colleague on the shoulder playfully. "I'm going home for the night. You should too."

"I'm going to stay here until he comes out, thanks."

"Fine. Suit yourself. Night."

"G'night, Sebastian."

Midnight. The doors hadn't opened. Charles hadn't fallen asleep since Shaw came to wake him up, but he's starting to get a little sleepy.

He doesn't want to fall asleep, but he does.

Morning. Charles wakes up when he hears the doors swing open. He leapt to his feet, eyes wide.

All of him expected Erik to come limping out from behind the doors, or at least his complaints of being cooped up for a night.

Instead, he's greeted by the solemn faces of the surgeons.

Charles wastes no time falling to his knees.

finis.

sorry about the depressing ending; if it makes you feel any better, it made me cry Dx but i hope you liked it! don't forget to leave a little review with your thoughts :D