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t's Lydia who teaches him. They're sitting in her room, doing homework--or at least, Stiles is attempting to do homework; he keeps squeezing his fingers into fists and then releasing, while reading the same line of text over and over again--when Lydia closes the book she probably wasn't reading either.
"I get it, you know," she says, with wide, all-knowing eyes, but Stiles doesn't really understand what she's talking about.
"Get what?"
Lydia tilts her head and keeps staring at him, possibly trying to decide if he's playing dumb or he actually has no idea what she's talking about. He really doesn't. "I know what it's like to be the crazy person."
"I'm not crazy," Stiles says, a bit defensively.
"Maybe not," she says, "but nobody else believes that. Including you."
"We're supposed to be studying."
"Stiles."
He doesn't tell her--he doesn't tell anyone--that he doesn't feel like himself most days, that he sometimes hears the nogitsune whisper in his ear. He doesn't tell her, but she looks like she already knows. He swallows, and finally closes the book on his lap.
"I'm dealing with it."
She looks doubtful. "Sure."
He digs his fingers into his palm. "I'm trying." It isn't a complete lie; he has spoken to Deaton about it, once, very briefly before they were interrupted by new werewolf drama. And his dad makes him talk about it, though Stiles always tries to say as little as possible. But he's just not good at talking about this particular issue.
"Maybe you need to try something different," Lydia says, gently.
Stiles doesn't know what to think when she reaches under her bed and pulls out a basket. When she opens it, he's even more confused when he sees its contents are a dozen multi-colored balls of yarn.
"What--" Stiles starts, and then Lydia holds out two knitting needles for him.
"Take them."
"I don't knit," he says.
"Take them," she repeats.
"I don't know how to knit."
"I'll teach you," she says, and when Stiles still doesn't make a move, she raises an eyebrow. "Or you can continue being the crazy person. I could use the break."
Stiles finally gives in and takes them from her.
*
Knitting isn't as hard as he thought it would be. Not that he ever really gave much thought to knitting in the first place, but what ideas he did have seemed overly complicated to him. His biggest issue is figuring out how tight to make his stitches, always struggling with deciding if they're loose enough but not too loose. Lydia binds off the rows as he goes on, and he feels slightly self-conscious at the uneven mess that is slowly growing as the time passes.
"You'll get better," Lydia says, her voice achingly positive.
And he kind of does, after a while. He spends a couple of hours each day after school with Lydia, and by the end of the week he has five dishcloths with varying unevenness, though the latter ones' defects are almost undetectable.
Stiles isn't sure if it's actually helping him cope with anything, but Scott's mom took all five cloths, flaws and all, so at least he's being somewhat productive with his time. Lydia wants him to make slippers next, on his own time, so he starts that at night. He doesn't end up sleeping much, but that isn't something he can blame on knitting anyway.
"Hey," Scott says, and when Stiles looks away from his work he's surprised to see Scott's awake. It has to be after three.
It's routine at this point, them sleeping together. Regardless of where they are, he doesn't go a night without Scott by his side. It annoyed him a little initially, because Scott mostly stared at him to make sure he wasn't going to disappear, but now... Stiles really doesn't mind.
"Did I wake you up?" Stiles asks, setting his knitting down.
"Nah," Scott says. "What're you making?"
"Slippers."
"For me?" he asks with a lazy smile.
"Maybe," Stiles says.
Scott doesn't say anything else, and Stiles takes that as his cue to go back to knitting. He's binding off when Scott finally speaks again.
"Does it help?"
He doesn't ask it with the mock amusement Peter did when he found out, and he doesn't ask it with the same quiet, over-analyzing tone that Deaton responded with. He just--asks, and Stiles is grateful. He doesn't want to explain how something so stupidly trivial actually makes a difference to him, mostly because he can't explain it.
"Kind of," he says.
Scott smiles again, and runs his fingertips down Stiles' waist, warmth soaking into Stiles' skin. "Good," is all he says.
*
"How can you even do that?"
Stiles looks away from the television and turns to Scott.
"Do what?"
"That," Scott says, nodding to where Stiles is currently knitting up a storm. He's taking a break from the slippers, because his dad found out about the dishcloths, and when Scott's mom wouldn't share, he insisted Stiles knit him some. Stiles is pretty sure his dad doesn't actually want any dishcloths, but whatever. "How can you do that and watch tv?"
"Oh," Stiles says. He shrugs. "It's easy once you know what to do."
"You're not scared you're going to like, miss a purl or whatever?"
Stiles huffs a laugh. "It's called multi-tasking, Scott. Also, this movie's pretty boring."
"Right," Scott says.
Scott's closer to him now, their thighs touching, and he has a weird look in his eyes. Stiles opens his mouth to ask a question, but Scott cuts him off by pressing his lips against his. Stiles' eyes widen and he almost swallows his tongue, and he grabs at Scott's arm, though not exactly in protest. Scott's lips are soft and warm and right, and Stiles can't really focus on anything other than his mouth.
Scott pulls away after a moment, and then smirks. "So much for multi-tasking," he says, and then points to where Stiles' half-finished dishcloth is sitting on the floor. Stiles picks it up, and Scott's already focused back on watching television, a somewhat smug, satisfied look on his face, and a flush in his cheeks.
Stiles can't bring himself to mind.
*
The slippers are actually for Lydia, but Stiles makes them too big and Scott claims them for himself. He looks ridiculous in them, bright pink and purple and blue, but he wears them all the time around his house, and makes an effort to point them out to anybody who doesn't immediately notice them.
"Really?" Peter asks with a raised eyebrow, his arms folded and back against the wall. "Did your boyfriend make those?"
Scott glances at Stiles, who mostly just rolls his eyes, because Peter's probably jealous he doesn't have outrageous slippers. "Yeah, he did," Scott says firmly--proudly--and Stiles feels something stir inside him.
When Scott looks back at him, he grins, and Stiles smiles back.
*
He knits Isaac a scarf that's longer than he is, and after several failed attempts he knits Kira a sweater. Deaton comments that he thinks Stiles is really improving, and Stiles figures he might as well make him a sweater, too.
The nogitsune is still there, lingering in his mind and taking over his dreams, and Stiles figures he's never going to actually go away. At least he's backed off a little bit, and Stiles can actually sleep through the night sometimes. On the nights he can't, Scott is there, a firm, soothing weight against his back, and it's okay. Stiles is okay.
He figures that's good enough for now.