Scott had been a big brother for a long time now. There’d been a few years before Alex was born, sure, where all he had was a father who only looked back at him long enough to close the door between them and a mother who was too desolate to come out of her bedroom more days than not, but that time was so small in comparison. Alex was born, and Scott had a purpose. He was meant to be a big brother, meant to gather a child into his arms and make sure he was safe. Sinister tried to take that away from him, had Alex adopted out and told Scott he wasn’t good enough to go with him, but those feelings never faded. He still had that instinct, that intense desire to protect.
It had been transferred onto Kitty, at some point. He still remembered the first time he saw her, that mouthy teenage girl who spoke her mind and didn’t let anyone walk through her even if they technically could. She was different than Alex had been at six years old, but he’d loved her just the same. She didn’t need his protection, but she’d always have it.
“I think you scared them off it,” he teased with a grin, because that was just as much a part of being a big brother as protection was. His smile softened when she spoke again, turning more fond than anything else. “You’ll always have a place with us,” he assured her. “Promise. We’ll only make you deal with half the mouthy kids.”
She was luckier than most. Their line of work--their whole identity--was supposed to come with a traumatic backstory, but she had none. No dead parents, no life-changing accident or childhood spend in Hell. Just some migraines, a few trampled flowerbeds, and recruitment by Xavier while she was still probably a few years too young. Some superheroes had no family; Kitty had two. One, distant and overwhelmed but generally well-meaning, was safe in the north shore suburbs of Chicago. The other, dangerous and messy and perfect, was here.
To deny the Prydes entirely was to deny huge swaths of her identity, the people who had suffered and died to get her to that upper-middle-class midwest suburb. The Prydemans, who had shortened their name for safety. Great-Aunt Chava, who had never made it out of Poland. Shabbat candles and plague puppets that came out every Passover and the Magen David that Kitty had worn around her neck like a shield every day since her Bat Mitzvah. She hadn’t called her parents in longer than she cared to admit, but she carried them with her everywhere.
But she was more than them. That Bat Mitzvah had been barely a year before she moved to the institute; she got her X-Men uniform not long after she got her tallis. Ororo and Logan had swept in immediately, and Scott became the first brother she’d ever have. (Though, as things would go, not the last.) Their pasts didn’t share everything, but they shared enough.
You’ll always have a place with us. She knew that. She knew she’d always have a place in Chicago, too. But when you always had two places, when you slipped between the very makeup of the world, you never really had a place anywhere. Liminal space, liminal girl. “That sounds ominous,” she said. “And fake. Have you seen my classes? Why do we keep that Quire kid around? He’s a terror.”