A/N: Kudos for me! I rewrote this chapter and it's at least twice as long and (hopefully) twice as good! And I did it all without my lovely Beta! Well, I suppose I can't count on her for everything. I mean if I brought her all my fanfictions, she would have a heart attack caused by stress, and then I would feel a little guilty. Lol

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans. I do own Ginger and the Institute though, so if you want to use them, tough! Their mine! Lol just joking. I honestly don't care, so don't bother to ask. But if you do (for some odd reason), just tell me the name of the fic and I'll read it! Anyway, go read!

Chapter 1 Running

I collapsed in the mud, grunting painfully. Mud sure wasn't as soft as it looked. Gritting my teeth, I fought the urge to just fall unconscious right there, where I lay. 'No, Ginger, keep running. I know you're tired, being you I would know, but you've got to keep running from that place. Leave it all behind you, and whatever you do, DON'T let them catch you!'

I stumbled to my feet, glaring at the rain that plastered my red hair to my face. It was another unwanted obstacle, an enemy. I had been running for awhile now. It seemed like forever, but…maybe not that long. If I had been gone forever, I might have been able to forget it. I didn't know what time it was (never having owned a watch in my life), what day it was, or how far I had come from…there. Goose bumps crawled up my arms and I shivered, running faster.

What appeared to be an abandoned farmhouse crested the hill I was struggling to run up. I passed by the house, opting for the barn, just in case it wasn't as abandoned as I thought. I didn't want them notifying the police and, inevitably, the institute. On opening the barn and seeing the large herd of cows huddling close together for warmth, I was glad I'd followed my instincts.

This was the solution to my need for shelter, but it was still freezing, and I could hardly afford to catch pneumonia. The best (although distasteful) plan was to cozy up to the cows. The only problem was to get the herd to accept me. I studied the cows and saw one, an animal covered in a coat of magnificent black, staring at me, with eyes that held no intelligence, but held me to the spot all the same. This, no doubt, was the bull of the herd. The confidence and power in which it held itself as it climbed to it's hooves left no room for doubt.

Cautiously, I slipped up to him, sliding a soft hand over the rough bristles of his coarse fur. Whispering soothing words into the air, that, of course, meant absolutely nothing to the bull, although I expected that the tone of my voice might get through to him. I leaned forward and leaned my head slowly against his and closed my eyes, concentrating. I smiled as I felt the male's muscles relax and he slowly slid to the ground. The rest of the herd lowered their heads to the ground, their worries put to rest now that their leader had decided I was no threat.

Curled around a young calf for warmth, I swiftly let myself fall asleep.

"Hey! You there! Wha'cha doin there?" a voice pulled me from my sleep.

Groaning, I opened my eyes, struggling to recall where I was and why an old man might be yelling at me.

The movement of the calf beside me as it wriggled out of my arms, brought me back to Earth. My eyes widened as they took in the old man with the graying, receding hairline and blue, patched overalls before me. Shit was the only word that came to mind when I finally came to heads with the fact that I had been discovered. I shrank back in fear, berating myself for sleeping far longer than I had planned. My body, evidently needing more sleep then my mind had rationed, had rebelled and slept in. My hair, having dried in the clumps it had formed when it had gotten wet, fell before my eyes as I struggled to escape. I kicked out with my legs at the man, who stepped back in surprise, clearly not expecting such an attack from someone who, just a minute ago, had been sleeping quite passively with his calves. The calves in question ran and brayed in fright, and the bull started snorting and pawing the ground aggressively, no longer under my control. The man stepped forward, bearing the brunt of my frantic kicks and grabbed at them, struggling to pin them down.

"Calm down, Missy! Hold yar horses there!" panted the man as he finally obtained a firm, unbreakable hold on my legs. "I only ased ya a simple question! But if it affends ya tha' much, jus' consider it never ased!"

I stopped my struggling, encouraging him to let me go, but I remained stoically silent, knowing that even if he was taking the fact that a stranger had just camped out in his barn remarkably well, he would probably still call the police, although maybe just to make sure I wasn't a runaway, and the institute would find out where I was. I looked at the ground and sighed despondently. A groaning made me glance up and a twinge of guilt crossed my conscience when I saw the grimace twisting his face as he lowered himself to the ground. Once he'd settled himself on the straw he smiled at me, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth deepening.

"There. We're on the same level now. Imma try this question agin. Would ya care ta tell me wat you was doin in this here barn?"

The kindliness of his voice tempted me to spill my story, but I remained silent and contented myself with staring at him. I couldn't tell just anyone about myself, especially not a stranger I had just met! No matter how kind he was. The tears streaked my face and I wiped them away with my hands.

I grabbed the handkerchief he handed me gratefully.

"Now, wats wrong, little lady? Why don't ya cum up to the house and the missus'll fix ya sumthin' to eat? Finest pancakes in the county!" He clambered to his feet and held out a withered, old hand.

Smiling sadly, I accepted it and got to my feet. My initial plan was to split as soon as he opened the barn door, but the more I thought of the pancakes he had promised, and the fact that I was hardly able to stand as it was, the more I wanted to lean on his shoulder and allow him to lead me up the path to his house.

As we passed the kitchen window I glanced in to see a portly woman stirring what must have been the pancake mix in a beige, plastic bowl. She glanced up and caught my eye before hurrying to the front door. As soon as the door swung open and I saw her full ensemble, I shuddered. That flower-print dress reminded me of the walls in the institute, smothered in flowered wallpaper to lull one into a false sense of security. 'Stop! The only way to handle it is to forget it…and keep on moving.'

The woman hurried over and tugged my other arm over her shoulder. Even though the relative closeness of that damned print made me grimace with disgust, I was grateful for the extra support.

"What's wrong with her? Is she sick? Why does she limp so?" worried the lady.

"She spent the night in the barn, with the cows. It looks like she walked a long way." said the man.

"Poor dear! Why didn't you come up to the house? We would have taken you in; given you a decent bed for the night…and a hot both." Her nose wrinkled as she took in the slightly sour smell of the cows. The fact that patches of dried mud still hung to my skin and clothes certainly helped the battered picture I made.

The woman chewed her lip and pressed a hand to my forehead, unused motherly instincts kicking in. "What's your name, my dear?" She ushered us inside and sat me down at the table, never minding the fact that I was dirtying her white tablecloth and chairs.

I placed my smaller hand on top of her wrinkled, though soft one that still rested on my forehead. It was warm, dry, and extremely comforting. It reassured me and I allowed myself a small smile. I fingered my red hair, although the damp and the mud paled the colour. "Ginger," I whispered, looking at her through my bangs.

She smiled, removing her hand, satisfied that I had no fever. "Ginger. What a lovely name."

I nodded weakly and fell silent again. I stared at her silently. She had thin, brown hair, that was graying at the roots, pulled into a bun away from her chubby face. She had rosy cheeks, a big nose, and thin lips, smothered in an orange-red lipstick. She was a homely woman, no doubt about that, but her beauty within shone right threw her aging face. I smiled and looked over at the man. His ruddy complexion is much the same. It has one word written all over it; strength. I looked shyly around the room. The walls are a comely white and brown, the cupboards are made of…oak? And hang over the kitchen sink. A window shows a tire swing that hangs from the bough of a large, maple tree. On my left is a hallway leading down to a whitewashed door, on my right is a stove, the door to the stairs, a sofa bed, and a door leading into the living room.

"My name is Eliza Doolittle, and this is my husband, Edgar Doolittle." The lady said as she settled down beside me. "What are you doing here? How did you come to be here? Where are you from?"

I shook my head, glancing at her from the corner of my eyes. 'I don't want to tell you. You would never believe me anyway.' "I'm not from anywhere…important. It doesn't matter, because I'm never going back!" I stared at the white lace tablecloth, feeling the sour taste of bitterness streak my soul.

Eliza nodded. She leaned in closer to me, grasping my limp hand which rested on the table. "You know, it's not fun to run away. You are going to run into hard times. Stuff you could never imagine before. What about your parents? Won't they miss you?"

I chuckled darkly at the thought. She sat back and stared at me, shocked at my reaction. 'Who does Eliza think she is? SHE knows nothing of the true meaning of hardship. If only she knew…I can see it now. Oh, yeah, Eliza. Sure they miss me, they miss me real bad as they shiver in the coldness of their dark alley. Even the money they got for me wasn't enough to sustain them. You see, Dad never could sustain a job position. I guess, I was one of the lucky ones. I spent enough years with them to know what I was missing out on. The other kids who'd been their since they were toddlers didn't get that privilege.' Those people were of no relation to me. They were worse than dead to me, if there is anything worse.

One night, I was brought to the place I knew only as "The Institute". It must have had another name but as for what it was…I never knew. The institutes "patients" were never allowed to find out. I was ten, and just becoming independent when I was brought there. They acted very friendly and told me I was special. But that it was certainly not a good idea to treat me like anybody else, and so, if I disobeyed any of their rules (they had this funny habit of making them up on the spot), just like any other kid, I would be disciplined.

When I was twelve, I had a good friend named Abigail. She'd always questioned everything they'd told her to do, which everyone knew as the universal no-no. After awhile, our "teachers" grew tired of what they called her negative attitude. One morning I woke up and she was gone. I questioned the "teacher" about it, wincing at the dark frown that crossed his features. He explained that since she had not followed the rules and therefore had to be punished. I never saw her again, and she was the last person I dared to get close to.

I looked up at Eliza and stared coldly into her eyes. "I don't have any parents. I've been alone for a long time."

Her eyes filled with remorse. "Oh, I'm sorry. I must have brought up some sad memories."

"No," I said cooly. "I hardly knew them. I couldn't care less."

Eliza was struck by how cold I was being and I began to feel remorseful. I smiled and rubbed her hand and looked at her apolegetically. A calloused hand fell on my shoulder, I looked up to see Edgar smiling down at me.

"Naw than, Missy...Gingey...was it? No...Ginger! Tha's it! Wy down't ya go up stars and taike I nice hot bath while the missus hare makes us those pancakes I was telling you about!" He said his eyes twinkling.

I nodded quietly, still fuming slightly, and made my way upstairs. I entered the bathroom, which blinded me just a little, being all white and all. I crossed over to the tub and ran the hot water. Being far too dirty to become effectively clean while taking a bath (my preferred bathing choice), I jumped into the shower. After about an hour and I was satisfied that I was as clean as before I left the institute, I stepped out and slipped into Edgar's striped bathrobe. I was really only assuming that it was Edgar's, but I was pretty sure he wasn't the type to wear flowers. Tying the sash, I ran downstairs. The aroma met my nose before the sight of the famed pancakes came in sight, and by the time I reached the kitchen, my mouth was already watering. Edgar glanced up and smiled.

"There's another one with flowers if you-" he started.

"No!" snapped, then added, rather lamely, at his look of surprise "Thank you."

I sat at the table, but before digging into the tempting cakes before me, I inspected the elderly couple across from me. "You're not going to call the police, are you?"

Eliza looked over at her husband before speaking to me. "Well, we really think it would be in your best inter—"

"If you call them, I'll just run some more. But it would be nice if you told me now, so I can get a head start." I frowned and stood up from my chair.

Edgar reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Are ya on the run from the law, Ginger?" he said softly.

I smiled and shook my head. "No, nothing like that, Edgar."

"Then why are ya worried 'bout them? Ya say ya have no parents. Did ya run away from the orphanage?" Edgar stared at me seriously.

"Of sorts." I muttered. "It's not about the police, it's about…what'll come with them."

"What?" he said, his eyes drooping tiredly.

I noticed that the grip he had on my wrist was slackening. His breath was coming in short, soft pants. I quickly pulled away from him and dropped my eyes. Maybe I should go back; if this was the only thing that would inevitably happen to anyone I touched. Maybe if I went back willingly the punishment wouldn't be as severe as Abigail's—'No! I can't go back; I won't!'

"Please, I can't go back." I whispered, only barely audible enough for them to hear me.

Eliza looked at Edgar worriedly, who only looked at me, his eyes for once holding only serious thoughts. "All right—"

"Edgar!"

He held up his hand and glared at his wife. "I trust ya, Ginger. Iffen I'm wrong and you're a cat burglar on the run, then you must be the shyest thief in the world. We haven't called the police and we won't."

I looked to Eliza, waiting to see if I could trust both of them to not turn me in. She shook her head, but she smiled at me and said whatever path her husband took she would follow. She agreed that I certainly wasn't a thief, but hinted that she could hardly rein in her curious questions about my past. Although many pestful questions threatened to loom their heads at the breakfast table, I sat down.

I was about to start eating when I noticed that Edgar's eyes were still trained on me and none of their playful humour had returned. "But if you think you're going to leave this house to go running off to Lord Above knows where and get yaself into a whirl of trouble!"

"But—"

"No buts!" he snorted, digging his fork into his pancakes. "Ya're jus' gonna have to stay here for awhile, until we can drive ya to wherever it is ya're headed. Iffen ya don't have an idea, ya'd best get yaself one. Can't go farther than town nowadays cus o' the cows and harvest time an' all."

Smiling softly, I nodded.

"And feel free to borrow some of my clothes, until I can get you some new ones in town, dear." Eliza smiled at me, nodding her head.

I wolfed down my breakfast and hurried upstairs to get changed. I looked in Eliza's drawer first—big mistake. All her dresses had the dreaded flower print on it, plus they were all several sizes too big for me. I groaned and shut the drawer. I opened the closet and found the same patched overalls and white shirts as Edgar was wearing at that moment. I donned those and skipped down the stairs. Edgar looked at me once, then double-taked, and laughed outright.

"Nat exactly appropriate for housework." He laughed.

I pouted disappointedly. "I was thinking of helping out in the fields with you."

Edgar shook his head. "My work is hard. A lil lady lak yaself couln be expeckin to keep up."

Eliza put her hands on her hips. "This is the modern day, Edgar. Let the girl help. After all she got the cows to let her sleep with them. And you know those cows aren't too trusting, especially that bull." She shudders at the thought of that overbearing animal before continuing her tirade. "Give her a chance!"

So that night I lay in bed exausted. 'Who knew farm work was so exhausting.' I stared at my hands. I had, had to borrow energy from the plants just to stay on my feet. Edgar had started noticing how the plants were drooping and mentioned something about bugs. I'd quickly walk away when he brought up the subject or change the subject. I sighed I was always so obvious when I was trying to hide things. Several times that day, I'd caught him looking at me with an odd eye. Shutting my eyes, I fell into a uneasy sleep.

Two weeks later

Edgar and I came in from slaving away in the fields ready to eat about anything. We'd eat pig's slop if we had to. Fortunately, Eliza had something a little more elegant planned. Roast beef and mashed potatoes greeted our eager mouths. Hey, I only said a little. Despite the lack of extravagance, which one would never expect from a few poor farmers anyway, the food tasted like slices of heaven, and the potatoes seemed to melt in your mouth.

I sat back, sighing, fatter than ever before. I was well satisfied, even though I must have gained five or ten pounds. It felt good; like I was always underweight before, but was now approaching the ideal. I was definitely getting the hang of farm work. Edgar had even let me take care of the cows once or twice on my own. Well, as long as I was only handling the calves and the young cows, and as long as the bull was penned in another field.

I had remained vigilantly silent about any past happenings in my life and they had eventually stopped questing for answers. Well, Eliza always looked like she could barely refrain from asking questions, but she usually held them in, except for one or two discretions which I was happy to ignore.

I sat watching the news in the dark living room. Unbeknownst to the Doolittles, I snuck downstairs at night when they went downstairs to check the news. I had to be alert for any signs of the Institute. If I let my guard down, they would be on faster than a fox on a hare. Usually the news held the normal news reports for the anyone of the night hawks out there. Except for one thing.

The last thing to appear on the things to report (I was just about to go up to bed, satisfied that I was safe for another day), was the story of some crazed man wandering up the road not fifty miles away. People passing had deemed the way he zig-zagged across the street unusual and dangerous for him and cars driving by, so they had phoned the police. What wonderful Samaritans. A picture of a man of about twenty-one years of age appeared on the screen and my face fell. He was one of the older kids from back in the Institute.

He'd always been shy and rather timid. The fastest to obey orders, and always worried about seeing they were down to the exact detail. He fretted over things that couldn't be done because they were beyond his ability. He always hated it, you could see it behind his pale, watery eyes, always close to tears. It appeared he'd finally mustered up enough courage to run away. But whether or not he had escaped with his mind was questionable due to this report. 'If he'd still been in his right mind, he'd probably still be back there, following orders.' I thought, darkly amused. On the less bright hand, they had found him not fifty miles from here. That could only mean the Institute wasn't far behind. They would easily be able to track an insane man, even one with special powers. Although, for the life of me, I never saw anything truly spectacular about him.

I ran silently up the stairs, my slippers padding softly against the polished, wooden floor. I grabbed a duffel bag from under my bed (it already had some clothes in it), and stuffed a few more shirts and a pair of jeans in. I glanced at the teddy bear Edgar had bought for me that day they'd went clothes shopping for me in town. It had no place in my life on the road, but still…I couldn't bear the thought of leaving it behind. Softly, I folded it onto the top of the clothes and zipped the bag shut.

I ran down the stairs scribbled a quick note to my friends, and then slipped out of the house. Running down the street, I turned back just before the house would have gone out of sight. I considered going back, forget all this running, and go back and lead a happy life. Just because they had found him, didn't mean they would find me. Him and I had no connections, I hadn't spoken to him, but a few times back at the Institute. Certainly never told him my plans of escape. He couldn't possibly know about me. I took a few steps forward, toward the place I was slowly coming to view as a home. It was awfully cruel just to leave a note. Since I had made up my mind to go, the least I could do is wait and explain it to them over breakfast. They deserved an explanation after all they had done for me.

I halted. In the end, I was only fooling myself. If they understand, they would only try to refrain me from leaving. And their kind, reassuring eyes would convince me to stay; convince me that everything would be all right. And I would remain in that happy state of contentment, until the Institute came and took away everything I held dear. Like they always did.

I turned tail and disappeared down the road, grimly holding back tears. 'Keep running. It's the only thing you have left. You just gotta keep running!'