Summary: Family isn't just blood – it's found connections and chosen bonds that last a lifetime. In the Institute, the New Recruits find a family with each other, one that can overcome any obstacle. A series of connected snapshots and oneshots.

Ships:Ray/Sam, Bobby/Jubilee, Tabitha/Amara, Roberto/Rahne later on, canon ships.

Author's Note: Inspired by Tales From the Kiddie Table, I present to you, some oneshots about the New Recruits. The ships are listed above. All author's notes will be at the end after this chapter. Summaries for each chapter will be located below the title.

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One: Welcome to the Institute

The Institute is warm, friendly, but it's not home. He doesn't belong here. And Ray is achingly, painfully, aware of that.

The first day at the Institute went about as well as Ray thought it would. Someone – Ms. Munroe, probably – bought him sandals before bringing him to the place. They made him clean his hair and his teeth, something he hadn't always had the luxury of doing.

He couldn't help but feel like a show pony. Or like some kind of act. "Look at us, we cleaned up the street rat," they'd say to each other before patting themselves on the back. "Aren't we so nice to do this for him?"

The thought made his stomach churn. Words echoed around in his head – worthless, charity case, street rat – until they blocked out his own thoughts and made him snarl into his (too soft, too fluffy, too new) pillow.

Ray was bitter. That much he couldn't help. He was bitter that he wasn't "good enough" to be in the Institute without an hour of prep work. He was bitter that Callisto and Caliborn had basically tossed him out of the sewers and told him not to come back.

That bitterness, sharp and harsh on his tongue, left his mouth cotton dry and his head pounding rhythmically with the too-fast beating of his heart.

With a sigh, Ray turned his head to see his roommate – Sam, the twangy farm boy – fast asleep in his own bed. His soft sleep snuffling was soothing, despite Ray's frustration.

But he couldn't sleep.

So he clambered out of bed, yanked his jeans on over his boxers and stumbled out of the bedroom. He padded down the halls in silence, not bothering with the lights. Between the full moon outside and his adaption to dark environments over the last two years, it wasn't that hard for him to manoeuvre through the darkness, around the various side tables, and down to the kitchen.

The lights flickered on, dim but there, as Ray entered the kitchen, his body already keying into the building to make the lights obey his every command. There was a thrill in it – in hunting through the circuits and figuring out which one did what thing. There was a secondary power supply in the house – one that seemed hooked into a sub-basement – and Ray had to wonder what that was all about.

He opened the door to the fridge and snagged a water bottle, downing half of it in one go. There was a tin of cookies on the counter with a cheery "share please!" note in swirling green handwriting. He figured it was probably Jean. The other X-Men didn't strike him as bakers. Ms. Munroe probably was, but she seemed more like a pale blue or purple kind of lady, not a green one.

He grabbed two cookies, they appeared to be chocolate chip, and tucked himself into the window seat of the kitchenette area. The sky was clear tonight, and this far out of Bayview, there were plenty of stars. Ray let his eyes trace the constellations. Callisto's voice was in his ear, whispering their names as they waited for the police to pass. Their sirens swirling on the streets, four storeys below.

With a blink, Ray found himself back in the window seat, the memories fading from his vision. He sighed, soft, and his breath fogged the window for a moment. It faded, the summer warmth lingering outside despite cool night, and he did it again. This time he let his finger trace the fog before it faded again.

It was almost two in the morning. He needed sleep. But sleep wouldn't come – not easily and not tonight. The Institute was too new. The pain of abandonment was too fresh. And everything – from the frustration that slowly leaked from him into the cool glass of the window, to the quiet anxiety that took its place – was too sharp around the edges.

Like lightning, Ray thought. Striking hard and harshly and leaving only burn marks and afterimages behind. He rolled one of the half-eaten cookies over his fingers, feeling the electricity that prickled them.

He wanted to go outside. To strike out into the night and vanish. The Professor would find him. Ray'd figured out one of the power sources in the house led to some kind of weird machine and, based on the earlier conversations he'd overheard, it was some kind of mutant tracking device.

Whatever. At least he'd have a few days of peace.

The kitchen door swung open and one of the X-Men walked in. Short dark guy with blond hair. Ray couldn't place his name. Found he didn't much care.

"Hey, Ray, right?" said the guy. His voice was soft, but it still broke the silence, and that put Ray on edge for no reason other than years of muscle memory. Of memories of voices in the night that shouldn't have been there.

"Yeah," said Ray. He went back to staring out the window.

A moment of blissful silence, broken again by the guy's question. "Where did you find cookies?"

"Cookie tin," said Ray. He didn't look at the guy. There was the telltale noise of the tin being opened and closed, and then the guy was standing across from Ray, his head tilted to one side and a cookie in each hand.

"You all right, man?" asked the guy.

"Fine," said Ray. He wanted to be alone. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to be. This place seemed kind of weird about leaving people alone. Too many people crammed together despite the extra space. Ray wondered if that was by design – driving them into the same space until they were forced to become friends. Or enemies, perhaps.

There were two telepaths in the house. They'd probably be mad if they could read his thoughts. But they couldn't. Ray had noticed that when he'd met the professor, and before, in the sewers, as well. His mind was static to telepaths. Static and pain, if you dug too deep.

"I know the first night's always the hardest, especially if you're a city kid," said the guy.

Ray raised an eyebrow at him. "City kid," he echoed, voice giving away nothing.

The guy shifted so that both cookies were in one hand and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I mean, we're both New Yorkers, man. Gotta stick together, right?" He looked sheepish, a little smile on his face and his dark eyes warm, if worried.

Ray caught himself smiling, just as small, if a little less friendly. "Right," said Ray. The guy didn't know his story, didn't need to. But hey, he was trying, and that was more than most of them had done today.

"Anyway, man, try and get some sleep, okay? You guys are getting fitted for the Danger Room tomorrow," said the guy. He waved at Ray, shoved a cookie in his mouth, and disappeared.

Ray raised an eyebrow once the guy was gone. Danger Room? That must have been what the rest of the secondary power supply was for.

Well, thought Ray, maybe this place would be interesting after all. If nothing else, he could stick around for a couple days. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

And just like that, he was bitter again. With a sigh, Ray got to his feet and headed to the living room. Maybe some TV would help.