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The first time around, Erik wouldn't have imagined having the time for anything as frivolous as a hobby.
He was still reeling from the loss of Magda, the terror of facing a life without her, without the one who had given him some hope of a better tomorrow for so long. Even so, he couldn't afford to lose himself in his grief, not when there were two little people depending on him. They were so very helpless and small, even smaller than Anya had ever been, the most fragile pieces of love he had ever held in his arms. It seemed absurd that they would survive when he had lost so much already, when his family had disappeared around him like dust in the wind, when the life and joy and cheer that had been Anya had been robbed from him, when his beloved Magda had lost her life fighting for the sake of these two little ones.
Clearly, then, he could not afford to lose this chance, as it surely was his last.
The next years passed by in something of a blur. He worked hard to keep his children safe and warm and fed, to give them as good a life as he possibly could. Slowly he regained some of his hope, enough so to actually consider doing work for other children as well, to ensure that Anya was the last child he would have to lose to hate and anger. Somehow he managed to fit that into his schedule while wrangling two rapidly growing children, though there was still so much to do, he almost feared even thinking of everything that still remained.
Wanda and Pietro grew older, though, and aside from the usual scrapes and bruises of a lively childhood, he somehow managed to keep them safe. That was, he was sure, all he could have ever wished for.
It was soon after the twins had come to their powers that he finally took up knitting. It was not his own idea, per se, but rather the result of a particularly loud teenage fight. Wanda was afraid of the effects of her powers, which tore at Erik's heart because she should have never been afraid of what she was and what she could do, while Pietro was simply too impatient for his own good, but either way they both refused to devote time to training the fine control of their powers. After Pietro tried to reason that Erik himself could not be bothered to do any such training, Erik had decided to make a point, picking up a set of stainless steel knitting needles and some yarn the next time he was out shopping. The start was somewhat frustrating, and the one book he had managed to find on the subject was not really very helpful in instructing him on the matter of even the most basic stitches, but after he had spent enough evenings sitting on the couch and stubbornly working through stitch after stitch, row after row without actually touching anything but the yarn, the most vehement protests died down.
Erik found, somewhat to his surprise, that he actually enjoyed knitting for its own sake even once the point had been made. There was something soothing about the sound of metal clicking against metal, steady, steady, time and time again the same. The actual products were secondary at first, just an excuse for him to spend his time guiding the little pieces of metal through the air sometimes for hours at a time. However, not even teenage rebellion could last forever, and one day Wanda snatched one of the scarves Erik had managed to make before heading out into the cooling autumn air, and Erik suddenly realized there could be more to his new pastime than merely the joy of manipulating metal and taking away Pietro's excuse to slack in his training.
The progress was slow at first, and it took him a while before he could make things that were precisely the size and shape he wanted, but he wasn't about to stop. By the time Wanda first introduced Vision, the strange man who was not quite human but claimed to love her nevertheless, Erik was skilled enough to make them both matching sets of hats and mitts. Vision, for his part, was either smart enough or smitten enough not to point out he had absolutely no need for such garments, and in so doing won some sliver of Erik's grudging respect.
He was not, however, quite hopeful enough to cast on for any baby items before Wanda actually announced that they were expecting. It was long enough a time for him to finish two baby blankets, anyway, ready just before the twins were born, made of the softest, warmest yarn he could possibly find. Wanda smiled as she tucked in both of her little sons, so small, so very small, and Erik found his breath catching in his throat.
There was very little to bury.
For all that he could still remember how small Wanda and Pietro had been, wailing little newborns in his arms with no hope in the world besides him, it seemed Thomas and William were even smaller now, lying silently side by side. He had not quite finished the little sweaters he had been working on for them, never would finish them, now, couldn't even think of doing so when there was no one to put them on, anymore. He had finished the blankets, though, had managed to get those together at least, and seeing them wrapped in those gave him some distant hope they would not be quite so cold.
The unfinished sweaters he put in a box and shoved them to the back of the closet. Perhaps one day he could bear to look at them again, though he was not entirely hopeful about it.
Wanda was lost in her grief, something that Erik very much related to. Vision and Pietro alike tried to comfort her, each in their own way, even as they too struggled with the loss of the boys. Erik stayed aside, knowing he would be extraneous at best. Wanda would come to him if she needed him, and until then, he would wait. Wait, and watch the yarn running across the needles, loop by loop by loop.
Erik was not religious, had lost what little part of him might have believed in something a long time ago. He did not believe in prayer, had seen too many of those go unanswered, no matter the desperation or faith of the one offering them. Even so, he liked to think he could knit some of his sympathy and wishes into the fabric, could somehow show Wanda his own grief and fear in tangible form even though he could not quite bring himself to say it aloud.
The shawl was finished just in time, wrapped around Wanda's shoulders for some semblance of warmth as she gathered all her knowledge and power in one last desperate attempt at bringing her children back. Erik found it fallen on the floor later as he listened to Wanda screaming at Pietro, wordless grief and desperation that could not come even close to portraying what she felt, not when the arms she wanted to lose herself in could not rise to meet her again. Her magic had taken a life, not hers but that of the one she loved instead, and all she had left were two strange children who were not hers, could not be hers, she refused to believe they were hers.
Erik looked at the two babies, so very small, one with dark hair and the other white, and remembered the first time he had held two children like this. Remembered the grief of losing his beloved, the remembered pain of a child long since torn from him, and knew there was nothing he could say to Wanda to make her feel better about it.
The shawl was just big enough for him to cover both the children with it as he looked for something else to wrap them in. He tried not to think of the last time he had covered up two babies to save them from cold, would not allow himself to think of it, not when he could hear the quiet sounds and saw the movement. These two were alive, still, somehow they were alive, and for all that he could not blame Wanda for her fear of another false dream fading away he also could not allow the little ones to be cold, not while he was here.
He didn't know where Wanda went, was not even entirely sure when exactly she left. He was too busy dealing with the practical matters, leaving Pietro to take care of his actual work as he cleared things on the official side, tried not to attract the wrong kind of attention. The magic had piqued the interest of many other practitioners, of course, and Wanda was not exactly capable of dealing with the kinds of Doctor Strange coming to their door with questions, could not bear to see SHIELD scientists poke at the lifeless remains of her husband as they tried to figure out what had happened. Erik handled all that while also making sure the two little boys were taken care of, arranged for paperwork when Strange could not tell him if they would be permanent or whether they were mere illusions dreamed up by his grieving daughter, made sure nobody would touch them no matter the curiosity. By the time all that was over with, when he could almost imagine himself settling into a normal life, Wanda was gone and not even Pietro could tell him where she had gone.
He called the boys Thomas and William and did not allow them to be cold.
It took a while before he could cast on anything, could even think of making another piece without immediately finding his mind cast back to little sweaters that never got finished, to the shawl he had tried to make as warm and comforting as he could only for it to fail to give his daughter any relief as her grief returned tenfold. He still wasn't even sure if these two would stay, wasn't sure if he could finish anything before they were gone, the illusions that they might have been. However, time passed and his hands grew idle, and one day he found himself looking through what little yarn he had left in his drawers and imagining what it could become.
It still took him a year of hats and blanket squares and tiny little socks before he could even think of casting on another little sweater.
These sweaters were finished in time, though, and worn right through by two very enthusiastic little boys who showed absolutely no signs of ceasing to exist any time soon. They were constantly losing and breaking and staining things, when they didn't just simply grow out of them like little weeds, but Erik didn't mind; it gave him something to do while his mind was working on the next project for his activist group or keeping an ear out for suspicious sounds as the boys were supposedly playing nicely. They soon developed favorite colors, red for William and green for Thomas, which he supposed was only useful because making everything in two separate colors cut down on the number of times he had to interfere in very loud and fierce fights over some particular piece of clothing.
Perhaps it was the more distant grief, the fact Pietro could often be relied on to stop by just as he was about to lose his mind, or just sheer practice, but Erik could have sworn things were easier this time around. He actually managed to get more involved in his activist work, reached out where Charles contented himself with keeping his students out of sight, demanded rights and recognition not only for himself but for everyone like him. His face and name were becoming more known even outside the immediate circles of the mutant rights movement, and between that and running the life of two little boys, he had little time for himself. Even so, he made a point of occasionally sitting down with needles and some nice yarn, enjoying the almost meditative quality of the clicking metal and growing fabric.
He refused to knit Tommy any more socks by the time the boy's powers showed up, as he could run them through much faster than Erik could even hope to produce a pair. He figured this was only fair, seeing how he had never made Pietro a single pair, though that didn't stop Tommy from complaining about the sudden lack of knitted items. Erik merely pointed out that he refused to wear hats of any description and thus left Erik little options. Once he stopped growing, Erik announced, he could have a sweater, but until then he would just have to content themselves with gloves, as Erik was not quite unreasonable enough to ask him to stop running about.
Billy was easier on the socks, given how he sometimes forgot to even touch the floor, but he did burn through the fingers on his new gloves not two weeks after his powers had come in. The boy was so obviously feeling guilty, Erik resisted the urge to even sigh at the sight of the burned fingers. At least it helped convince them both about the importance of regular practice. Some things truly never changed.
Fingerless gloves were slightly faster to knit, anyway. After a couple of pairs of those he was more than prepared by the time Tommy finally grudgingly introduced the girl he absolutely refused to call his girlfriend and Erik found himself looking into the particulars of archery gloves. At least he did not have to guess about her favorite color, considering how he would never see her without something purple on her.
Teddy was always very easy to knit for, and Erik rather enjoyed doing so. The boy always accepted any gift with a kind of wide-eyed gratefulness that was somewhat surprising; though Billy and Tommy did appear to be appreciative of what he made for them — knowing as they did that the gifts would stop coming very quickly if they were not vocal about it — the shine had somewhat worn off, so to speak. Teddy seemed almost unreasonably moved about something as simple as a scarf in the same pattern as Billy's, which was all the incentive Erik needed to make him more complex gifts. Well, the gratefulness, and the fact that he kept Billy smiling.
He was never, ever going to knit Teddy a sweater, though. Not only was he big for his age — and Erik was no small man himself — but Erik had seen the way he treated his shirts. Yes, his powers were fascinating, but not quite so much so that Erik would have spent countless hours on knitting something that he would destroy in seconds. It was much the same principle as Tommy and socks, or Billy and full gloves; for all that he enjoyed his hobby, he was not going to put work into something that would not last at least as long as he was going to spend making it.
What nobody needed to know was that this time around, he did have some baby-appropriate yarn picked out already by the time Teddy surprised them all by laying an actual egg. Not that he had expected anything to happen for quite some time, neither of the twins had appeared to have any particular plans to start a family very soon, but, well, sometimes the unexpected happened and it didn't hurt to be prepared. After all, it had certainly worked this time.
Little baby Peggy did not get a blanket made by her grandfather, but that was only because she received one from Hawkeye instead. To Erik's practiced eyes it was clearly a beginner project, but Erik trusted it would be very warm either way. The occasional mistake in the stitch pattern or slightly wonky square was nothing but proof of all the long hours that had gone into it, and Erik couldn't help but feel delighted at the evidence that his boys had people around them who cared about them besides just Erik himself and the occasional visit from Pietro or, once in a blue moon, Wanda. Besides, there was plenty of baby hats and booties and cute little cardigans to be made, so it wasn't like Erik was getting entirely supplanted in the process.
It was when he was storing one such project in the back of a closet to keep it hidden until her first birthday that he found an old box, tucked well out of sight, all but forgotten in the dust and shadows. Any attempts at hiding the current work fleeing his mind, he ended up taking the box out and opening it up with an almost reverent air.
The sweaters were closer to completion than he had remembered. Only one set of sleeves remained, after which there was simply some seaming to be done. He had even had the presence of mind to tuck away the remaining yarn, soft like down even after all these years, a beautiful white hinting just barely at silver. Some of the yarn had gone into the blankets, as he recalled, mixed with soft grays and blues, now long lost to him but hopefully sufficient for its task of keeping tiny little bodies warm in the cold ground.
It took him a long time of staring into the box, fingers caressing the pieces that were so soft, they caught at the rough skin of his fingertips. Finally, though, he drew a deep breath and stood up. Clearly, it was time to look at his selection of needles.
It was somewhat strange, trying to find something to fit a finished garment instead of the other way around, but once he did find what he was looking for he bought two at once. The other one would have to wait until Tommy and Kate got around to the whole child thing, if they ever did manage to make time for that, but for now, he had a tiny little sweater that absolutely needed a soft teddy bear to wear it.
Peggy appeared to enjoy her gift, hugging it with a high childish squeal, her eyes shining as she held it close to her chest. Everyone around them was smiling, Erik included, until he glanced at Billy. Billy who, he realized, was trying to wipe away tears without being noticed.
"What's wrong?" Erik murmured, stepping closer while the attention of everyone else was on the birthday girl. "Something the matter?"
"Sorry, sorry." Billy offered him a teary chuckle. "Just, all of a sudden I felt… well." He shook his head. "It felt like someone was hugging me, except they were kind of, well, distant, I guess? Which doesn't make sense, hugs are pretty much the opposite of distant, but. Well. It's hard to explain."
"I think I understand." Erik paused, trying to keep from saying anything else, but he couldn't quite stop himself. "Ah. Was the hug warm at least?"
"Very warm, yes." Billy paused, wiping away the rest of the tears before giving him a faint smile. "Thank you, you know. For, well, everything."
They had no time for talking any further as Billy's attention was called to his little daughter again, not that this was the time or place in any case. Perhaps they should have a conversation soon, anyway, with both Billy and Tommy there. Now that he thought about it, Pietro had mentioned that Wanda might be coming to town next month, and she would surely want to see how much Peggy had grown. Erik found he rather wanted to arrange a family dinner for everyone, and in any case it was high time the twins heard all the details of their past, anyway. Wanda owed them that much at least, and perhaps now she would be ready for it. Not that Erik planned on letting her take all that on alone.
Perhaps he should cast on for a shawl again.