incantation ━━☆ a stucky au

Chapter One: Letters

Steve Rogers awoke, his eyelids heavy and blond hair tousled from his lengthy sleep. He began to rub his eyes, stars sparkling behind his lids as he tried to erase his fatigue. Voices could be heard as footsteps followed down the staircase; his twin siblings argued over something irrelevant, so loudly that it woke Steve up. With a groan, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up straight. The ancient mattress creaked under his weight, or lack thereof, and poked Steve with numerous broken springs.

They weren't very wealthy, he and his family. The wallpaper in Steve's room was peeling off, his carpet speckled with stains of spilled paint and food from his childhood. Nowadays, he ate with his family down in the dining room, which is where he was headed.

Steve pulled on grey sweatpants, a plain white tee, and some thick socks. He sighed in content at the comfort his clothing gave him; it felt like a big hug. It's autumn now, the air crisp and nippy. Steve decided to pull on a dressing gown for good measure before plodding downstairs. He could feel the cool wood through his socks. It was only a matter of time before the cool weather left him ill yet again, and he sighed at the realisation.

Their house wasn't very big, despite it being two storeys, so when Steve had descended the staircase he was stood directly at the front door. Something light crunched under his foot, so he reached down to pick it up. It was a letter, addressed to Steve Rogers, at 56 Prendwick Drive. An expression of shock was plastered on his face; nobody ever wrote to him. He hadn't received a letter in years, since...

"Steve! Your toast is going to be stale if you don't come and eat!" he heard his father call for him from the dining room. Steve quickly shoved the letter in his gown pocket before making his way to the kitchen to pour himself a coffee. His parents weren't happy that he was drinking coffee; he was only ten, going on eleven. He was so tired, though, by excelling through his first year of school and from his jobs. Most of their neighbours were elderly, so they needed their gardens weeded and lawns mowed. Steve had to earn extra cash for the things he wanted, and there was an extensive list. As long as he was earning his own income, Steve's parents agreed that he could drink coffee as long as it wasn't proper, or too strong.

Steve ripped a packet of cappuccino coffee open, pouring it into his cup as he listened to his siblings gossip at the table. They were a few years older than him, so their gossip was a lot more interesting than his. Pietro was telling Wanda that one of his friends had found alcohol in their History teachers cupboard, earning a smack from their mother. Steve chuckled, the event playing out in his head without even having to turn around and look.

"Got something to say, punk?" Pietro raised his voice at Steve's, his smile falling. Steve's siblings were nice to him most of the time, but he was never fully accepted in his household. He was very different to Wanda and Pietro.

"If Mr Edwards had alcohol in his cupboard, it's because he has to tolerate having you in his class," Steve retorted.

"Ooooh, burn!" Wanda playfully teased. Steve could feel Pietro's glare piercing through him.

"Quit it, kids," their father chimed in, and Steve released the breath he didn't realise he was holding. Sometimes, he felt as if he was walking on eggshells around his siblings.

Steve says a quick hello and goodbye to his family, before taking a slice of toast and heading upstairs with his coffee. His father warns him not to spill it, and Steve waves him off as he leaves the room. The letter feels heavy in Steve's pocket as he ascends the staircase, taking two stairs at a time, careful not to spill his coffee.

After shutting the door with his hip, he places the cup of coffee on his night stand and quickly gobbles up the slice of toast. Steve's fingers are greasy with butter, so he wipes them on his dressing gown before pulling out the letter.

The last time he got a letter was one of the most emotional times of Steve's life. He always felt as if he didn't belong. For starters, his parents and siblings all had dark hair, whereas Steve's was a golden blond. They were all fair, so he didn't think so much of the difference in hair colour. His mother told him it had skipped a generation before it passed down to Steve, and she showed him a photo of his grandfather. The man did look like Steve; he was tall and had a very strong jawline, and most importantly, he had golden blond hair. Though, Steve still felt that something was off.

He'd collected a few hundred dollars two years prior, the small eight and a half year old having helped his neighbours around their properties. Steve had help from his school councillor to get involved with a DNA testing service. He managed to take DNA from both of his parents in secret, and send of all three of their samples to be tested. His councillor was waiting for him a month later, a letter in hand while she was stood at the schools front gate, a pained look on her face.

She had told him that there is no match in their DNA samples, that Steve was unrelated to his parents. Steve asked her to keep it secret; he knew his siblings had no idea, and he couldn't bear to face his parents about this. She agreed, and his life seemed to feel heavier with the weight of this secret on his shoulders.

Now, fiddling with this letter in his hands, he wondered if it would be of the same significance.