Before you amazing, incredible, terrific person read this story, you should probably know two things:

It's a self-insert.

And I'm not sorry.

Cheers.

Rated cause I motherfucking like to swear, god fucking damn it.

This one last bullet you mention is my one last shot at redemption,
because I know to live you must give your life away.
And I've been housing all this doubt and insecurity and
I've been locked inside that house, all the while you hold the key.
And I've been dying to get out, and that might be the death of me,
and even though, there's no way in knowing where to go, I promise I'm going because
I gotta get outta here.

-Be My Escape; Relient K

It was a beautiful day.

Y'know, the kind of day that Louis Armstrong sung about? Skies so blue, roses so red. What a wonderful world, blah blah blah. No really, all joking aside, it was truly wonderful. Birds were gaily chirping as they flew, not a single cloud could be seen for miles and the sun shone down upon the people, warming them up. It just could not be possible for anyone to be having a bad day or be in a bad mood.

Except for Sarah, of course.

Don't misunderstand though. Sarah wasn't abnormally or exceedingly negative about things nor did she hate her life and wish she was dead.

She just hated her life at the moment.

Then again, sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-94 during rush hour is never a good time for anyone. Maybe if people were, like, barbequing and dancing or something, it could be a party, Sarah dully thought with a snort.

She was just desperate for some form of entertainment. Actually, she was secretly hoping for a specific form, but alas, Channing Tatum did not appear and start to strip and dance in front of her.

Well damn.

She drummed her sparkly blue painted fingernails against her steering wheel to a song stuck in her head that she heard at work a few weeks back. She hummed a little bit of it. "Tiny little boxes in a row," Sarah sang softly and incredibly off-key to herself, "Ain't what you want, it's what you know."

Sarah heard herself sing and knew that she could not sing if her life depended on it. In a world of Ariel's and Belle's, she knew she was that one Disney Princess that did not sing. But did that stop her?

"Toooniiiiiiigggght," she drawled out loud and sounding much like a dying donkey, "we are yoooooouuuunng!" Sarah cringed at the terrible song (her humble opinion) and her even worse voice (that was just fact), but giggled nevertheless.

Hey, just because she can't sing does not mean she won't sing.

Still, decent music would have been preferred over her voice. Times like this she wished her radio was working.

And the A/C too, Sarah sighed to herself while digging her fingers into her eyeballs and dragging 'em down her face. And that the left headlight wasn't duct taped in and the passenger side door would open and-y'know what? I just want a new car. She sighed. Why is everything I own shit?

The thing Sarah hated the most about sitting in traffic wasn't even the traffic part. Or the sitting. She just hated that it was actually happening. Like, seriously, all the things she could be doing with her life and here she remained. She could be reading or cleaning or doing her laundry or out with her non-existent friends or sleeping. God knows she never got enough sleep. Probably something to do with the colossal amount of coffee and pop she drank daily.

But no. Sarah sat in her car, slouched in her seat, blowing some annoying piece of her bangs outta her face repeatedly and staring at the bumper of a random car until traffic finally caught up to where she was and she could move and drive another half an hour home. That was, regrettably, her life.

Same shit, different fucking day.

And she's been in this exact same spot for the last fucking hour now. She repressed the urge to smack her steering wheel since she knew from experience that would do nothing but make her hand smart something fierce. Patient was never a word to describe Sarah. Lazy, stubborn, and childish, perhaps, but never patient. In fact, she considered just getting out of her car and to start walking home because she was so impatient but then something amazing happen. Something Sarah could have only imagined seeing in her dizziest, wildest dreams.

The cars in front of the car in front of her were starting to move.

It was like Christmas morning. Sarah gave a cry of joy and grinned a grin that nearly split her face. She sat up straighter in her seat and prepared herself to drive. Bouncing slightly in her seat and the crazed grin still plastered on her face, Sarah could now agree.

Today was a good fucking day.

Twenty minutes and half a gas tank later, Sarah was cruising at 80 miles per hour. Technically speeding, but c'mon. Everybody knows that those five extra bits were freebies. Traffic had thinned out too, which was nice. No one likes to be sandwiched in-between two semi-trucks on the highway. However, now the bright as sin evening sun was in front of her and right smack-dabbed in her line of sight.

Sarah squinted her eyes as the sun preceded to attempt to blind her. She was a pretty terrible driver to begin with, so not being able to see certainly could not help. With a growl of annoyance, she flipped her visor down to block the lovely sunshine from her face. Yet, papers upon papers of old receipts, tickets, and driving instructions from MapQuest came tumbling down on top of her as the result.

Sarah swore. In a hastily attempt, she picked the papers up that she knew, she knew, she should have thrown away ages ago but never did.

Sarah's eyes widened as she saw the biggest motherfucking spider she had ever seen come out of the papers in her hands.

Sarah swore once more as said motherfucking spider started to climb up her hand and up her arm, towards her face...

Sarah swerved.

Sarah wasn't dead. Not yet anyways. Just in a ditch. Which, in hindsight, was probably not much better, but hey, she was breathing and that had to count for something. She groaned as she came to several hours after she crashed, judging by the pitch black sky above.

"Fuck," she mumbled out while holding her head, which currently felt like some baby mutant alien was trying to split open and come out of, like in one of those really terrible Syfy movies, "Motherfucker."

As she removed her hand from her head, she noticed it was completely covered in her blood. The metallic smell suddenly filled her nose, spread into the inside of her mouth where it coated her tongue and throat and she couldn't help but gag. She had to get out of there and get home or get to a hospital or just somewhere. She just had to get out and get away from the smell and taste of her own blood. Now. Ignoring her screaming muscles and gritting her teeth, she pushed her car door open, but then it just sorta fell off onto the ground.

Sarah quickly followed it.

She cried out as she landed in the dirt. She didn't even care about trying to get somewhere now. Everything just fucking hurt. So. Goddamn. Much.

Is this how it ends? She thought as she managed to flip around onto her back with a pained gasp. Am I gonna die?

She stared into the cloudy, starless night sky and a tear leaked out of her eye from pain, from fatigue, from frustration, from desperation, from so many things that Sarah could not even begin to consider the source of. All she knew was that it was silly, to the point of being stupid, that something so small as a tear on the outside could represent so much going on, on the inside.

Please, she begged to no one in particular as she laid in the cool grass, I don't want to die.

She was just so tired. She just hurt so much. She had to close her eyes. Just for a little bit. It would be okay. Right?

Please, she thought weakly as her eyes fluttered.

Please.

Save me.

Aragorn was not a man easily frightened. He had ridden into battles numerous times, with his fear pushed to the farthest corners of his mind. He had face hoards of enemies that would make a lesser man flee in despair.

Nor was Aragorn a man that panicked in a problematic situation. Aragorn always kept his head on his shoulders in the worst of times and was able to solve a problem within seconds due to his quick thinking.

That was just who Aragorn was, that's how he was raised, and that's who he intended to die as.

So, staring down at the oddly-dressed unconscious girl, Aragorn could not believe that he was at a loss of what to do.

"Is she dead?"

Aragorn frowned and looked to his side to see his tiny companions all stare at the girl with wide, curious eyes. They all looked tired and road-weary, but Aragorn knew that couldn't be avoided nor could they leave to go home. Or, at least, not anymore.

Not since he let Arwen take Frodo yesterday.

Aragorn had to stop himself from second-guessing his decision yet again. It would be bad for the Hobbits to see him be so unsure of his decision. He couldn't do that to them, not when the life of their beloved kin was at risk. Not that it was truly his decision though. It's not like Arwen had left much room for argument or compromise. But still, she had faith in him and his abilities, so he should have faith in her and her abilities. After all, it's not like Arwen was just a normal, human girl.

"I do not fear them."

No. There's nothing he could do about it now. It was decided. It was over. It was done. And it had to be done. Otherwise, Frodo would have died in Sam's arms. Aragorn knew that what he did was right. He knew that what Arwen had done was right.

So, that just left him with his current dilemma.

"Is she, Strider?" Sam repeated his question, staring up at Aragorn with a furrowed brow, using the name Aragorn had became known as in this region.

Aragorn threw Sam an unsure glance, cleared his throat nervously and knelt down next to the girl. He put his fingers on her neck and tried to feel for a pulse. He heard Sam, Pippin and Merry all hold their breath as they hovered over him, all staring at the unmoving girl. Aragorn face darkened when his search began to appear useless. Desperate, he grabbed the girl's wrist and checked there.

Nothing.

She was dead.

Aragorn sighed and shook his head to let the Hobbits know. He heard a gasp, probably from Pippin, and understood their shock. She was still so young. Did she have family? Would someone come looking for her? Did anyone even know where she was? Aragorn wanted to help her. He did.

But he had enough to worry about at the moment.

Two days after Frodo got stabbed by the Nazgûl at Weathertop, they came across those three troll statues. Sam insisted on stopping to look at "Mr. Bilbo's trolls" despite Aragorn urging them to keep moving. Aragorn is now grateful that they did stop, for he knew that it would have made it even harder for Arwen to find them in time and it was now truly a race against time for Frodo

After Arwen had taken Frodo and left them, Aragorn had calmed the Hobbits down. The four settled down for a quick break and maybe to catch up on some lost sleep underneath the three statues of trolls. They needed it too, since they did not stop once after Frodo got stabbed. It was a six day journey from Weathertop to Rivendell and Aragorn knew that Frodo would need elven-medical attention right away.

When they started moving again at dawn, (after having breakfast, of course) they trekked through the forest for a bit. Aragorn had just finally gotten the Hobbits out of the forest and had started to pick up on the tracks Arwen left on the way to Rivendell when they happened upon the strange girl. However, Aragorn couldn't dwell on her for much longer. The sun was nearly above their heads now so that meant that evening was only a handful of hours away. They were losing daylight.

He had to get the Hobbits to Rivendell. Nothing else mattered.

"Come," Aragorn called to the Hobbits as he stood up and started to walk away from the girl, "There is nothing we can do."

"But Strider, we can't just leave her-," Merry began, not moving from his spot beside the girl.

"-and we cannot take her with us," Aragorn interrupted sharply, turning round to face the Hobbits, "We have to get to Rivendell. We still have at least a three day journey ahead of us."

Sam, Pippin and Merry all exchanged unhappy looks with each other and removed to budge. They were clearly upset with just leaving the poor girl. Who knows what could happen to her? Before they could protest even more, Aragorn spoke up again.

"She will only slow us down, " he explained more gently, for he too felt bad about leaving her, "We do not have a cho-"

But Aragorn never got to finish his sentence as a loud groan filled the air. Sam, Pippin and Merry, almost as one, spun on their heels to turn to look at the girl.

The four of them watched as she slowly brought a hand up to her head and came to. Aragorn's mouth couldn't help but to drop in disbelief.

He had not felt a pulse.

He knew that he didn't and he was, very rarely, a man that was wrong in that sort of thing.