Written as an entry to the contest on the Ultimate RENThead Forum. AU, basically if they'd all been homeless kids. probably not to be continued.

They ran, feeling their legs stretching out to accommodate the desired speed. They could feel each footstep as a vibration running up their legs accompanied by the reassuring sound of a solid slap against the pavement. The slight wind brushed their faces, egging them on. They were winded but clearly happy. Who cared if they were seven wayward teens, running loose in the streets of New York? Who cared if the place they were running to was no safer than where they were now? They were closer than family and Central Park was a better home than anything else any of them had experienced so far in their short lives. Roger, Collins, and Mark had lived this way for so long they didn't remember life before the park. Maureen and Benny had both escaped abusive parents, while Angel and Joanne's parents had thrown them out. They all bore the marks of their treatment.

Mark panted. The youngest of them, Mark was no athlete, and had the least endurance. He stumbled, almost falling flat on his face in the concrete, before Joanne caught his elbow. She pulled him along until he found his footing again.

"Is he gone?" Benny gasped. Even Roger, the fastest, was starting to tire after five blocks. Maureen looked back. She ducked, as a rolling pin nearly slammed her in the head.

"Nope!" She screeched happily. Angel laughed, Collins smiled. A look flit over Maureen's face for a fraction of a second, her smile slipped off, her eyes dimming. Then she shook her head, smiling, and kept running. It was a special smile Collins reserved specially for Angel. When Maureen had first joined the group she had clearly been after Collins, when Collins had clearly just wanted to be friends. When Angel joined them, that smile had haunted Maureen for weeks. Now she was older, though any more mature was not for anyone to say. She was happy to be friends now, and even happier to notice that Collins had his own smile just for her as well.

"You know," Roger commented. "You'd think he'd give up after this long. It was only a bottle of soda…and fourteen bags of- WHOA!" The others skidded to a stop around the spot where Roger lay sprawled on the ground. Roger blinked twice, stunned, and sat up.

"What- oh…" Roger asked, seeming at first to wonder what he'd tripped over, before noticing that his query was at his feet.

A girl, maybe a year younger than Angel but older than Mark, lay curled in a ball on the pavement. She was shaking slightly, a puddle dark brown, nearly black, hair fanned around her. They stared at her a moment, unsure what to make of this alien creature: someone outside their group. Angel stared at her intently, unblinking. His mouth moved slightly, forming words not even Collins, a few inches away from him, could hear. His eyes widened and he grinned, a happy, unbelieving grin.

"Mimi…?" He breathed. The girl glanced up, her face peering cautiously through her curtain of hair. The girl gasped.

"Angel Chica! I thought- I thought- But you were- and he was- And- Caught you- and your FATHER! He must have found you trying on-," Angel paled, and quick as anything, clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I'm alright," He told her, then, in a tone so soft Mimi could barley hear him, let alone see his lips move he whispered. "They don't know, let's keep it like that." Mimi nodded uncertainly. Angel let loose a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Mimi, What are you doing here?" He asked in an audible tone. Mimi flushed, her bronze skin turning a rosy sort of color.

"I sort of…ran away." She said the last word in a whisper. She bit her lip nervously. "I'm sorry Angel chica-um-o." She struggled with the last part, her lips unused to forming the last vowel. "But I couldn't stand it!"

"You're not going back are you?" Mimi blinked startled by this reaction. She'd expected Angle to order her to march right back home.

"But," She felt so childish asking the question. "Where would I go?"

"You'd stay with us of course." Angel replied without thinking. He slapped his forehead. "Oh, duh! Meems, these are my friends."

He went around introducing them. Benny, with his three-inch afro (his head had been shaved bald when the gang found him) had a scar in one eyebrow, courtesy of his father; he was the brawn of the group. Strong, with an unpredictable temper, the others often had to restrain him for the frequent occasions that someone would jab at the group. The years with his father had toughened him; he did not know his own strength. This was not the best combination of temper, but he was always extremely sorry afterwards which almost made up for it.

Joanne's hair had finally grown down after growing horizontally for what had seemed like ages and finally hid the slightly lighter shade of brown around her neck. Her father had tried to strangle her as an infant. Her mother had had the lowest of existents and had done nothing to prevent the suffocation of her daughter. This had demolished her in Joanne's eyes. Her mother never fought back. "If you are not willing to rescue yourself, than you don't deserve to be rescued." Joanne had tried to explain late at night. Joanne, though quiet, had some of the strongest opinions. She was worldly wise and, though she'd never been to school, was a fluent reader. She was the one who kept the group from sinking entirely into their own world of searching for food and staying together. Joanne was often taken as cold for her silence, but she had a warm personality, just nervous around strangers. Though keeping her tongue, and convincing others to do so, had gotten them out of what were potentially messy situations.

Maureen's dark hair streamed out behind her like a cape the bruises having faded long ago. Her eyes danced, and her smile sparkled. Charismatic, energetic, she kept them all sane. In a world where depression and passiveness was often easiest, she kept them on their toes. Maureen could not read or write, but she could spot if someone was alcoholic, on drugs, or even if they were dangerous, from a single glance. She always had something funny to say. On the one hand she was amusing and a pleasure to be around, on the other hand, she could be self absorbed and forgetful. Humor was her way to escape; she thought that if she just made someone laugh they could forget what she had been doing previously. She feared being alone, and when she was feeling particularly afraid, it made her clingy.

Collins' hair had grown into dread locks around his face. He was tall, with a smile sweet enough to make up for their lack of sugar. He was strong, but not as quick to anger as Benny, and he didn't show it the same way. When irritated he reacted like anyone else, but when truly angry he became absolutely silent. His eyes, usually so soft and kind, were like ice. It wasn't his words that were so terrifying, but rather his lack of them. You had no way to tell what he was thinking or planning to do. Despite this, he was rarely violent. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of it, he just chose not to. They had only seen him like that once, when some one had tried to do more than just poke insults at them. One moment he'd been watching, the next the person had fled. Maureen liked to retell the story, being the only one to remember it clearly. However, Collins always wondered if there had been some other way, and Maureen had always told him that if he hadn't acted she and Angel would probably be dead. Collins was always silent after that. Collins was the "Plan Guy" as Roger liked to say, he liked to think, Joanne called him a philosopher. He was always fun though, if not a little over protective at times.

Mark's hair remained miraculously short, despite the fact it hadn't been trimmed for years (you can't really count the time Maureen somehow got a hold of an old pair of scissors). He was the baby, and it annoyed the hell out of him. He was sweet, and loyal to a fault. He would always come back, no matter how unhappy, or upset. He loved his family, but always feared rejection. He thought that if he showed that he was upset at all, the others would leave him. So he learned to burry it, so to speak. The others loved him, and loved to coddle him. He was the one they could shield from the obscenities of the world. It gave them comfort to know that he wasn't worried about if they would all wake up together in the morning. Still, Mark tired of being the one lacking any skills. He wasn't very fast, or strong, and though he wasn't stupid by any means, he was no Joanne. His very presence gave them comfort, and hope, which was more than any words could describe.

Roger had a mop of sandy hair almost to his shoulders. Maureen liked to tease him about the way it flapped out behind him when he ran. He was the fastest. He never felt more powerful or freer than when he was running. Like Mark, Roger didn't like to talk about his feelings, but unlike Mark, he let them weigh him down. He would get angsty and moody, and generally unpleasant to be with. Then he would run. As hard and as fast as he could until the unwanted emotions seemed to melt off like a layer of ice, a bit like a grasshopper shedding it's skin. The rest of time he had a wicked sense of humor. He was a prankster, and an amazing actor…except when he was upset. Roger cared a lot more than he let on. Though he didn't remember where it came from, he was taught from and early age that not caring was macho, as so many young boys learn. Sometimes though, it shows through and everyone is pleasantly surprised. Roger was vengeful. An irritating trait, that often had amusing results.

And Mimi barley recognized Angel. Angel's hair had grown our differently than anyone expected. When she had known him, his hair was a fine curly fuzz. Now however, it had grown in black, shiny with only a slight wave to it (think play wig with no bangs). With his big eyes, long lashes, and full lips it was hard to tell his gender. Even knowing him well, Angel seemed to drift. No one, not even the rest of the gang, knew of the scars on his back, and he intended to keep it that way. Angel didn't like to dwell on his past, it was the in the past and that was where it should stay. Angel was open. He was the kindest of them, with the least temper and the most patience for people. When it came to sitting still however, it was an entirely different story. He was energetic, and generally happy, finding wonder in the simplest things. Not to mention the odd ones, they would never forget when he'd scrapped a gigantic hole in his knee trying to get to an empty soda can. Angel had an innocent domineer, but knew almost as much about the street as Maureen. The only time he gave in to his thoughts completely was when they were drifting off to sleep, where no one could see him. What he wanted most was to get off the streets, but at the same time his greatest fear was that they would be separated. Angel usually got what he wanted. Angel usually got what he wanted because what he wanted was to make everyone around him as happy as possible.

Mimi shook hands, part of the little manners she'd been taught. "You're the one who tripped over me." She noted, glancing at Roger's sneakers. Mimi had never really been good at being intimidated, and was now comfortable enough to be herself. After all, Angel seemed to love these people, and that was good enough for her. Roger blushed.

"Yeah," He said breathlessly. "I…Uh…Sorry about that." Mimi grinned.

"No problem," She told him.

"Roger!" Maureen complained. "You're squishing my potato chips!" Roger was squeezing the bag so tightly his knuckles were turning white. He released his death grip on the chips.

"Sorry." He murmured. Maureen gaped inwardly. Roger rarely apologized for anything. Mimi's eyes lit up.

"Chips?" She asked excitedly. Her stomach twisted painfully. Than she caught herself: acting like herself was one thing, but expecting hospitality from strangers was another. Just because Angel welcomed her was no reason to expect the same from others. Joanne nodded.

"We have plain potato chips, sour cream and onion, and BBQ. We can have them when we get back to the Haven." Mimi raised an eyebrow.

"The Haven is our place in The Park." Collins explained. "It's a haven for all of us."