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Tony blinks at the man in front of him, doing a quick head-to-toe once over. It’s not that he, personally, knows a lot of (any) ghost hunters, but he’d pictured something different. More pseudoscience serious, less... he can’t help but linger on the loud orange and blue plaid over a graphic t-shirt: Ghosts do it with SPIRIT. Less that.
The man’s partner (boyfriend? bodyguard? sugar daddy?) wears a smug grin the same flavour as Loki’s own dangerous smirk.
“This is your ghost hunter?”
Loki shrugs, waving a hand. “Strange is still unavailable. I suppose we could always request Maximoff, if you’d prefer.”
Ugh, no. Hard pass.
Reading the look on Tony’s face, Loki continues the introductions.
“This is my dear friend, Peter Hale, and his associate, Mieczysław Stilinski. Mieczysław is a talented young mage.”
The young man bounces on his heels with an awkward half-wave and the hint of a blush on his cheeks, “Just call me Stiles.”
Tony breathes a sigh of relief, and claps his hands together, then pulls them apart to trigger a virtual keyboard. “Right, so I’ll give you the quick and dirty, since my boo is willing to vouch for you—how did you guys meet, anyway?”
He continues typing while he speaks, bringing up two videos, one a grainy archival reel, the other a crisp recording from his suit.
Loki hums, trading a look with Peter. “We have common interests.”
Stepping closer to the archival reel, Stiles tuts to himself, typing notes on his phone.
“Yeah, they really bonded over making people cry on r/mensfashion.”
Peter watches the suit footage, eyebrows raised. “Is that... Captain America picking up an unsettling, obviously haunted doll?”
And yep, it sure is.
There’s not much to the video. It’s a rare mission these days that has Cap’s team working with Tony’s. Divide and conquer has worked out much better for all involved. They didn’t have much choice this time around, with strange readings coming out of a farm house in Middle of Nowhere, Wyoming. Usually he’d pawn that kind of thing off on Strange and the woo squad, but he’s been off dealing with an inter-dimensional brouhaha for the past three weeks. Loki ends up pinch hitting, if caught in the right mood.
Anyway, the video captures their arrival at the house, Rogers bristling with impatient energy and Barnes leaning against the porch rail reading a worn copy of The Continental Op.
Loki frowns and pauses at the entryway, a soft green wave flowing forward from his fingertips.
“Well, it would seem there is some kind of presence. How fascinating.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts, Loki. And if there are, I think we can take them.”
Rogers huffs, rolling his eyes, and pushes the door open, “Let’s get this over with.”
The camera turns to Loki and Barnes, still standing on the porch. “Aren’t you going to follow your bestie?”
Barnes doesn’t look up from his book. “I get paid to watch the perimeter.” He turns a page, “I’m watching the perimeter.”
The video starts to flicker, static glitches in the visual and a faint whispering in the audio. Tony’s quiet “oh fuck this,” is just barely audible before a glimpse of Captain America is visible, standing in the dusty and faded living room of the farm house. Picking up an unsettling, obviously haunted doll and collapsing in a heap.
It turns out the cleansing they’ll need is fairly straightforward. While Stiles grinds together some kind of... goo, Loki lends an occasional wisp of magical support and has a serious discussion with Peter around high-waisted pants and v-neck sweaters.
Tony works on an alternative to lithium-ion for EV batteries because he actually has a real job.
Soon enough the ghost banishing goo is complete and they head to the compound where Rogers and Barnes are holding up. Well, Rogers is being haunted by the doll and has to stay isolated. He’s pretty sure Barnes is just hanging around to get paid to read.
A blast of cold air greets them when the doors open. A less cool and more skin-crawling kind of chill. Cap is in a sealed, ventilated room with a pile of blankets, used tissues, and the stupid, creepy doll. Barnes is settled on a sofa just outside, wrapped up in a throw blanket with a mug of something warm and another book.
“Any changes? I brought our ghost hunter and his dilf.”
Barnes sets aside his book and pulls the throw around his shoulders. “Eh, temp’s dropped another five degrees or so, doll lets out a sinister giggle every couple hours. Steve’s fingers have gone numb. It’s fine.”
Rogers sneezes. “Thanks, buddy. I feel the love.”
“Hey, I ain’t the one who said ghosts aren’t real and messed with the doll straight outta Ghost Stories.”
A groan is followed by the eerie sound of children laughing. The doll’s shadow stretches and wanes against the wall, despite the overhead lights.
Stiles makes a face, scrunching up his nose. “Well, that is unsettling.”
He places three candles along the glass panel that separates them. Loki lights them with a flick of his wrist.
Stiles steps in front of the center candle, with Peter behind him, hands slipping under his shirts to rest on Stiles’ hips. The soft Polish chant is almost hypnotic, rising and falling like the softest of breaths. Pressure in the air builds and builds, along with the doll’s shadow, until it covers almost every inch of Rogers’ room, banished only at the edges lit by the green glowing candles.
Then—suddenly—a pop! The candles extinguish, the shadows vanish, the doll’s head cracks down the middle, cold porcelain turning scorched black with burnt out eyes, and the world is warm again.
Tony frowns, “That’s it?”
He doesn’t know what he was expecting. Honestly this whole thing has been kind of a letdown start to finish. He’ll stick with ghosts in the shell rather than the mystical kind, thanks.
Tony sticks around to watch Loki, Stiles, and Peter look Rogers over out of morbid curiosity more than anything else. According to Loki and Stiles, his aura looks clear, and Peter says he “doesn’t smell haunted” which, what the fuck.
Rogers takes the exam more or less well, but levels a disapproving look at Peter when he wraps a possessive arm around Stiles’ waist.
“He’s a little young for you, isn’t he?”
Stiles scoffs, “Dude, you’re like a hundred.” He tilts his head to give Peter better access to his neck. Peter smirks.
Stiles points at Loki, “Plus, he’s like a thousand years older than Tony. I don’t see you throwing shade their way.” Tony swears he hears Barnes snort in the background, but when he looks over, the man is just adjusting his throw blanket and picking his book back up.
Loki hums, pulling Tony in close. “That is true, hjartað mitt. If you’d like, you could call me ‘daddy’.”
Huh. Maybe not a total letdown after all.