Disclaimer: I don't own The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Summary: I suppose there are worse ways to die - okay, that's complete bull. I'm one hundred percent sure this is going to hurt like hell. But...I, at least, got to die in her stead. MorganErin, set during TCM: 2003, oneshot

Yeah, I'm not exactly sure about this, either, but I just wanted to write this for some dumb reason. I found that I ship these two pretty hard and, well, there was nothing on this site written about them, that I saw. I hope that everyone - whoever still roams this fandom, that is - likes what I write here. I'm pretty nervous. New fandom, and all. Anyway! Thanks so much for reading!

A Tenth of a Second

People say you see images of your life before you bite the big one.

I can personally attest to the fact that, shit no, you do not.

All I'm seeing now is ratty wood and the face of my killer. That's it. It's rather hot, in this abandoned building, and I find that I just want it to be over with. I fight, though. I struggle. I can't think of doing anything but.

It's weird, how one processes things in the midst of danger.

My heart is hammering out of my chest. I'm sure my pulse is off the charts. My breaths are shaky and uneven.

I'm screaming.

I never realized just how much of a bitch I sound like when I scream. How appropriate I find this out now, huh?

But then...she's screaming as well.

I never realized how much I hated it when she was upset.

Again, how appropriate that I find this out now.

I find that the only thing that has been on my mind, other than my own oncoming demise, was her.

She had said nothing as she pushed me into the small closet in the corner of the room. As soon as that door had shut, I just couldn't stay still. I couldn't find myself being any kinds of alright if it was my own inaction that got her killed.

Thus, my predicament.

I guess I was more...chivalrous, I suppose, than I thought I was.

Because allowing Erin to die for me was something that would never, ever sit right with me.

I honestly don't see how it would sit well with anyone.

I've known for a long while that Erin was something special. I guess there's always that one girl, right? The one that, when you look at her, there's just nothing else around. Just you and her and the space between that always seems too large - and, well, in my case, there was the addition of the seemingly nonchalant white knight of a boyfriend-slash-potential-husband but I digress.

I thought this trip would have been fun. Going to Mexico for some weed and maybe a party or two... I never would have thought that we'd pick up two hitchhikers - one completely normal - well, not really normal; I don't think that word could ever describe Pepper - and one who was the complete opposite. One who blew her brains out in our van, one who was the catalyst for what was to come.

Erin had shown just how compassionate she was, not allowing us to drop her on the side of the road - like a piece of trash, she had snarled at us, her pretty face contorted with disgust at our complete lack of sympathy.

And that had been that. We had complied. We had reverted back to the upstanding good citizens that we were, and sought help.

Though, the help we found wasn't really help at all.

That damn psychotic non-cop. As I think of this, I roll my tongue around the space in my gum where I had lost that tooth. I can still feel the sting of the liquor bottle as he hit me with it, the shards of glass sharp as they cut my face. I hope that hillbilly fuck gets what is coming to him. I hope that one day, this beast with the chainsaw will turn on him.

But, I guess that might just be a brief fever dream, crafted by the near-death madness I am experiencing.

The large man grabs me and raises me up, hanging me on an old chandelier by those damned handcuffs I've been saddled with. I struggle and scream, knowing what's coming but unable to prevent it. It is that helplessness that is most painful.

I look for Erin.

My distraction had worked. I knew what he was about to do to her - I had heard her screams and it had terrified me to the bone - and I had intervened, though I knew it would lead to my death.

Surprisingly, I was okay with it. Not the chainsaw part, of course, but the fact that I had saved her. The fact that I could show her how much I cared, in the end. Not with words, but with actions. And, after all, isn't that just as important?

Erin is staring at me, her eyes large and impossibly frightened. She's screaming, but I can't hear it over the sound of the chainsaw. It buzzes and growls, almost like an animal, thirsting for my death.

I take in her face for a moment. Still so beautiful, even in the midst of something terrifying like this. So strong. She had saved me from what probably would have been a worse fate that the one I am about to face, dragging me from the basement where I had been placed, and then throughout Lord knows where. Just to save me. She had to drag me most of the way, and I had been slowing her down, but she had brought me with her regardless.

God, I love her.

The thought takes me off guard, jolting me with such a ferocity I could have fallen to my knees, had I the ability.

I try to find her again, but my vision is blurry. I think I see her, and she looks to be so frightened, so worried, so completely immersed with dread. I try to give her some kind of reassurance. But there is no capability for reassurance in a place such as this, a place marked by so much death.

I catch her gaze again. She's crumpled in the corner, shrieking something awful, but just to see her before I am ended is enough.

I hear the chainsaw roaring upwards, and I know.

I close my eyes.

End.