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Sam Wilson had faced a lot of things in his life. War zones, parachute jumps, and split-second decisions that made the difference between life and death. But as he stepped into Avengers Tower for the first time, he couldn’t help but feel a chill run down his spine.
“Welcome to the team, Sam,” Steve said, guiding him inside.
The lobby buzzed with a subtle energy, the kind that only came from a place full of people who’d saved the world one too many times. Sam was ushered through by friendly nods and waves. Natasha Romanoff gave him a subtle smirk from across the room, and Clint Barton threw up two fingers in a casual salute as he munched on an apple.
The building was impressive, with sleek, modern architecture and the buzzing energy of a place that housed the most famous heroes in the world. Yet, as he followed Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff down a wide hallway lined with art and Tony Stark’s latest gadgets, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
“Is it… normal for the lights to flicker like that?” Sam asked, trying to sound casual as he glanced at the hallway sconces that had dimmed and brightened in an odd rhythm.
Natasha exchanged a knowing look with Clint, who smirked. “Must be some faulty wiring,” Clint said with a nonchalant shrug. “You know Stark—always messing with the tech around here.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, not buying it for a second. He had the distinct feeling they were messing with him. Still, he kept quiet and kept walking, even when he swore he heard a small giggle coming from somewhere above.
He stopped and looked up, but there was nothing except the ceiling lights. Clint and Natasha paused and looked back at him, eyebrows raised.
“You okay, Wilson?” Natasha asked, one corner of her mouth quirking up.
“Yeah,” Sam replied quickly, forcing a laugh. “Just thought I heard… something.”
Natasha’s smirk grew, and Sam felt a prickle of irritation. He wasn’t about to let them think he was jumpy on his first day. So he straightened his shoulders and kept following, even though he was sure he could still hear those faint, echoing giggles. And was that the sound of tiny footsteps?
He shook his head, trying to ignore it. Maybe Stark’s tech had some weird automated… something. The man probably programmed little robots to make spooky noises for kicks.
Still, Sam couldn’t help but feel more on edge as they entered the main living area of the tower. It was a massive, open-concept space with plush couches, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the New York City skyline. The place should have felt lively, full of warmth and activity, but instead, it felt strangely empty.
That’s when he saw it: a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Sam spun around, heart thudding, but there was nothing there.
“What the—”
“Something wrong, Sam?” Clint asked, doing a poor job of hiding his laughter. Natasha bit her lip, obviously holding back a chuckle.
Sam glared at them both. “Are you two messing with me? Because I swear I just saw—”
Before he could finish, a stack of papers on a nearby coffee table rustled and flew to the floor, scattering across the carpet. Sam jumped back, heart racing. “Okay, what was that?” he demanded, looking between Clint and Natasha.
Clint raised his hands. “Hey, don’t look at us. Maybe the tower’s haunted.”
Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was a gleam of amusement in her gaze. “Don’t mind Clint,” she said. “He loves to scare the new recruits.”
“Haunted,” Sam repeated, deadpan. “Right. Because that makes perfect sense in a building full of geniuses and superheroes.”
Clint shrugged, “If you can have alien gods and people who can turn into green rage monsters, why no ghosts.”
Sam was about to reply when a loud crash echoed from down the hall, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. Sam turned in that direction, his pulse spiking.
“Alright,” he muttered. “What the hell is going on in this place?”
Over the next few days, Sam’s nerves felt like a taut wire, ready to snap at the faintest provocation. It wasn’t just the mysterious giggles that kept him on edge; it was the erratic noises, the patter of small footsteps that disappeared into silence, and the occasional faint rustle of papers as if someone—or something—was playing tricks on him.
It was the fourth night when Sam saw it: a small shadow flitting past the corner of his vision, just as he was heading back to his room. He froze mid-step, every muscle coiled with tension. The shadow had moved fast—too fast—and there was a lightness to it that made his skin prickle. He stepped cautiously toward the hallway, peering into the dim space, but found only emptiness. No trace of movement, no whisper of sound. Just the quiet hum of the tower’s ventilation.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Sam muttered, running a hand over his face.
The next morning, his exhaustion was impossible to hide. Natasha caught sight of him in the kitchen, dark circles under his eyes, and stifled a smirk. She slid a cup of coffee his way with a look that suggested she knew far more than she was letting on.
“Rough night, Sam?” she asked innocently, sipping her own coffee.
Sam narrowed his eyes on her over the rim of his cup. “You could say that. You ever hear… weird stuff in the tower at night?”
Natasha’s lips quirked in a barely-there smile. “Weird how?”
“You know. Like… giggles. Footsteps.” He paused, considering if he should really voice what he was about to say. “Shadows.”
Natasha let out a soft chuckle, her amusement clear as day. “Oh, I see. You’ve met the tower ghost.”
“Tower ghost?” Sam set his mug down, blinking. “You’re kidding.”
Clint chose that moment to walk in, stretching his arms over his head and yawning like he hadn’t a care in the world. He caught the last bit of their conversation and grinned like a Cheshire cat.
“Did I hear ghost talk?” he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ah, Sam, did nobody warn you? Tony doesn’t like to talk about it, but this place has… a history.”
Sam crossed his arms, trying to look unimpressed, but the flutter in his chest betrayed him. “You’re serious?” Clint wasn’t wrong in his prior assertion. If aliens and human rage monsters existed, why couldn’t ghosts… Shit.
Clint leaned against the counter, adopting a faux-grim expression. “Absolutely. The first ghost of Stark Tower. Came about after some big experiment gone wrong. It’s been known to mess with new recruits—especially those with keen senses.”
Natasha’s eyes danced with barely contained laughter as she chimed in, “Only appears when it feels like it. The giggles are just the beginning.”
“Right.” Sam scoffed, but there was an edge to it. His eyes flicked between them, catching the subtle glances they shared. They were messing with him. They had to be.
“Ask Thor,” Clint added with a shrug. “He swears by it.”
As if on cue, Thor’s booming voice carried into the kitchen as he entered, hammer in hand and an enthusiastic grin on his face. “What tales are being told this morning?”
“Ghosts,” Clint said nonchalantly, shooting a wink at Natasha.
Thor’s expression lit up as if someone had just promised him a banquet. “Ah! The spirits of this realm. Yes, I have heard whispers of such things here in this tower.”
Sam’s stomach dropped. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Thor nodded solemnly, leaning in like a bard sharing an old legend. “In Asgard, we had halls haunted by the spirits of ancient warriors. They would laugh in the dead of night, rattle their swords, and whisper secrets that only the brave dared to hear.”
Sam rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath, “Great. Haunted halls and Norse ghost stories. Just what I needed.”
Sam lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with a deep sense of resignation. Every sound now seemed amplified. The gentle hiss of the air system, the faint creak of the tower settling—each noise added to the anticipation that something was going to happen. And then, it did.
The giggle, unmistakably that of a child, floated down the hallway. Sam’s eyes snapped open, heart thumping. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed his flashlight from the nightstand and crept into the hallway, muscles coiled like a spring.
As he neared the common room, he caught a glimpse of movement—a small shadow darting behind the couch. He clicked on the flashlight, its beam slicing through the semi-darkness, but the space was empty. Just cushions and silence. Sam's eyes swept the room, but he found nothing.
A faint whisper was so close that Sam jumped, flashlight clattering to the floor. He spun, eyes wild, but the hallway behind him was empty. A chill ran down his spine.
Suddenly, he heard Tony’s voice behind him. “Wilson, what are you doing? Planning a midnight mission without us?”
Sam spun around, forcing a casual grin as he stooped to pick up his flashlight. “Just… getting my bearings, Stark.”
Tony arched an eyebrow, clearly bemused. “Right. Well, don’t let the ghost keep you up,” he said with a wink before strolling off, leaving Sam wondering if everyone in this tower was in on the joke—or if they knew something he didn’t.
The next morning, Sam approached breakfast with more wariness than usual. Clint and Natasha were already seated, Clint’s feet kicked up on the table while Natasha skimmed a newspaper.
“Good morning, ghost hunter,” Clint teased.
Sam glared at him, but before he could retort, Thor walked in, patting Sam on the back with enough force to make him stagger. “Fear not, my friend! If the spirit troubles you again, I shall lend you the aid of Mjölnir.”
“Thanks, big guy,” Sam said weakly, sliding into his seat. He could feel Natasha watching him, the curve of her smirk taunting him.
Just then, the sound of a small, cheerful giggle echoed faintly from down the hall. Natasha's eyes widened slightly, but only Clint noticed.
“Did you hear that?” Sam asked, glancing nervously toward the hallway.
Natasha shrugged, too casually. “Who knows, Sam. Maybe it’s not just a story.”
Clint smothered a laugh as Thor nodded, face full of serious resolve. “Tonight, we can investigate together!”
As laughter bubbled from the other side of the table, Sam realised that he wasn’t going to live this down anytime soon. But somewhere, deep in the tower, a pair of tiny feet scampered away, giggles trailing after them.
Sam was officially convinced that Stark Tower was out to get him. The noises, the flickers, the whispers—it all felt like the punchline to an elaborate, drawn-out joke. And now, at this moment, standing in the hallway as the first rays of morning light painted the walls with an orange glow, he was about to get the answer he didn’t know he was searching for.
“Uncle Steve!” A small voice, filled with excitement, rang out. Sam turned, eyes wide, as a blur of dark hair and a bright smile barreled down the hallway and leaped straight into Steve Rogers’ waiting arms. Steve, with his super-soldier-strength caught the boy effortlessly, laughter rumbling from his chest like thunder.
Steve glanced over at Sam, and grin turned sheepish. “Sam,” he said, adjusting the boy on his hip slightly. “Meet Peter, Tony’s son..”
The boy, no more than eight or nine, had a mess of brown hair that seemed to defy gravity and bright, curious eyes that sparkled with mischief. He wore a tiny, Hawkeye hoodie that was just slightly too big and jeans that were scuffed at the knees, as if he’d spent most of his day running around on adventures. Peter’s small arms wrapped around Steve’s neck, and he looked at Sam with a mixture of shyness and playful curiosity.
“Tony’s son?” Sam repeated, trying to wrap his mind around it. The kid looked so much like Tony now that he was seeing him up close—same dark eyes, same mischievous grin. “You mean I’ve been haunted by him this whole time?”
Steve couldn’t hold back his laughter, a deep, genuine sound that echoed through the room. “Seems like it,” he said, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first. Clint still hasn’t gotten over the time Peter convinced him the elevator was possessed.”
Peter giggled, the sound so familiar now that Sam’s jaw tightened with realisation. “Were you scared?” Peter asked, his tone innocent but tinged with a teasing glint. “Don’t worry, I only haunt you when I’m playing spy.”
Before Sam could respond, a slow clap came from behind him. He turned to see Tony Stark leaning against the doorframe, a smirk plastered on his face. His gaze flicked from Sam to Peter, and his eyes softened when they landed on his son.
“Ah, so that’s what all the fuss was about,” Tony said, strolling over with the easy swagger that only Tony Stark could pull off. “Did my mini-me give you a fright? Should’ve warned you—he’s stealthier than Natasha.”
Natasha, who had been lounging in the background like a cat who knew all the secrets, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Only because I trained him,” she added smoothly, taking a sip of her coffee. The glint in her eye confirmed that she’d known about Sam’s late-night encounters from the start and had chosen to stay silent, letting the chaos unfold.
“Okay, okay, let me get this straight,” Sam began, leaning forward and shaking his head, unable to hold back his chuckles. “For a whole week, I was being haunted by a nine-year-old secret agent, and not one of you thought to clue me in?”
Clint leaned back, arms crossed with a self-satisfied smirk. “We should’ve recorded that,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Best new Avenger hazing ritual, hands down.”
Steve, still holding Peter comfortably on his lap, chuckled and patted Sam’s shoulder. “Consider it your welcome gift, Sam.”
“Gift, huh?” Sam echoed, laughing despite himself. “A week of flickering lights, giggles in the middle of the night, and whispers that made me question my sanity? You guys are a piece of work.”
Thor, who had taken up half the couch with his imposing frame, clapped a massive hand on Sam’s back, making him jolt. “Ah, young Peter!” Thor’s booming voice was filled with delight. “You are more cunning than the spirits of Helheim! Even Loki would be envious of such trickery.”
Peter, still full of energy, laughed. He wiggled down to the floor and walked over to Sam, his eyes wide and sincere. “I’m sorry, Mr. Falcon!” He grinned and raised his hands, wiggling his fingers as if to illustrate his next point. “But if you want, I can teach you the ‘Agent Peter’ stealth crawl. That’s how I moved without you seeing me.”
“It’s just Sam,” he corrected, chuckling. “And next time, maybe give me a heads-up before you ‘haunt’ me, alright? Honestly, Stark, a little warning would’ve been nice,” Sam said, mock-serious. “Here I was thinking the tower was actually haunted.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, his smile unabashed. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I thought you liked surprises.”
The laughter slowly subsided as the room fell into an easy calm. Thor reached for a pastry from the tray he’d brought in, and Clint snagged one as well, still chuckling under his breath. Natasha took a seat beside Steve, who was now watching Peter interact with Sam with a fond look in his eyes.
Sam ruffled the boy’s hair. “Alright, Agent Peter, when’s our first lesson? I need to be able to sneak up on Clint and pay him back for his running commentary.”
Peter’s eyes lit up like a firework. “Tomorrow! I’ll show you my best moves.”
Clint groaned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Great, now I have two stealth agents after me. I knew Peter hanging around Nat was a mistake.”
Natasha smirked, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Mistake or strategic advantage?”
Peter grinned widely, and Tony slung an arm around Sam’s shoulders, shaking his head with a laugh. “Welcome to the family, Sam. Hope you’re ready for more surprises.”
Sam took a deep breath, looking at the warm, chaotic scene of the Avengers and Peter around him. The week of tension now seemed almost worth it, if only for the feeling of belonging that settled in his chest. “Bring it on,” he said with a smile, knowing he wouldn’t have it any other way.