#skimming through dollhouse clips without knowing what it is

[m00nblune]

so I just watched a Jerma clip for the first time a few days ago and mann I totally had the wrong idea. I thought he was some quirky european man who's whole streamer act thing was that he acted like an anime girl

[kumeko]

A/N:  Chapter 2 for my @marveltrumpshate fic for @quillofchoice! I wanted to try alternating between Brock’s and Jack’s PoVs a bit. I’m not sure if I made him too soft, but my research has given him the image of a soft house husband. XD

Summary: Jack never expected to find himself in the middle of a children’s toy aisle, looking at Barbie Dolls. When Hydra promised new experiences, this was not what he was expecting.

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In the years they’ve known each other, Jack had gotten used to Brock’s temper tantrums (for lack of a better word). The man was a walking volcano, just waiting to erupt, and every now and then he would explode in a fit of rage. Usually it was on a mission, sometimes it was during sparring (Jack had long gotten used to the bruises), and occasionally it was during something mundane like eating dinner (which led to bruises of a different nature).

 Yet, for all of his experience, this was a strange outburst. In front of him, a miniature Brock paced across a desk, tiny firsts clenched tightly. Scattered around him were shredded magazines and distorted paper clips. When you were the size of a finger, there were very few things left to take your anger out on. That said, Brock had managed to leave an impressive trail of destruction. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he actually killed someone in this form.

Oddly enough, as deadly as the image was, Jack couldn’t help but find it cute.

 Not that he could ever say it aloud, least he wanted to be the dead person. Despite whatever label he would put on their relationship, Brock was never one to let feelings get in the way. Jack didn’t have that level of detachment, it was beyond him.

 “What is taking them so fucking long?” Brock growled, his usually deep voice coming out a high pitch.

 Again, very cute. Jack had never thought he was one to like cute things, but, as usual, Brock was an exception to that. “It takes time to process things,” he pointed out.

Brock glared at him (adorable) before letting out a chain of expletives. The angrier he got, the worse the words, and by now Jack was starting to feel awkward listening to them. It was a small mercy that no one else was in the waiting room with them. When Hydra had shuffled them off to one of their post-mission check-ups, they had ensured privacy. Whether it was out of respect for Brock, out of fear for what he’d do, or just to keep word from getting out, Jack wasn’t sure but he was grateful nonetheless.

 It had been a long check up, with two doctors putting Brock through every kind of test and machine possible. Or at least, tried to—most devices were configured for human-sized bodies, not dolls. Jack had waited patiently in the small, white waiting room, idly flipping through old magazines. After two hours, a tiny Brock had marched out of the doctor’s room, looking not a wit taller and a fuckton angrier.

 “Maybe they got some Pym particles off you at least?” Jack suggested with a shrug. “Then the mission won’t be a write off.”

 “That is not—”

 The door opened, cutting off Brock’s high-pitched growl. A man with a white lab coat stepped out, looking incredibly ordinary for a doctor who looked after mercenaries. He skimmed the clipboard in his hand, flipping through pages, before looking down at Brock. And then even further down, because god, Brock was tiny. “I’m afraid you’ll have to stay like that for a while.”

 Brock’s expression grew dourer. “The fuck.”

 “Fortunately, the change isn’t permanent—after a few weeks, it should wear off. However, we don’t have the capabilities to force a change. You will just have to wait,” the doctor continued, ignoring Brock’s reaction. “Come back for a checkup after that, I would like to see if there are any alterations to you after the fact.”

 “Alterations?” Brock stomped forward, each step shaking the table. “I’ll show you—”

 Jack groaned and leaned back into his seat.

 -x-

 “No.”

 After three hours, Brock’s voice had gone from endearing to downright annoying. Jack glanced furtively to his left and right, scanning the toy aisle for any witnesses. Fortunately, it was midday Wednesday and the Toys R Us aisle was deserted. The only people to watch on to this argument were the hundreds of Barbie dolls lining the shelves, rows upon rows of blankly smiling dolls that sent a shiver up his spine.

 He had never been good with dolls.

 “You don’t have a choice,” Jack argued back softly, gesturing at the Kens stacked behind Brock. Despite standing on the shelf with them, no one could mistake Brock for them—he was slightly shorter and the scowl on his face was downright bloodthirsty. “There’s nothing else your size besides a Ken doll.”

 “They are nowhere near my size,” Brock scoffed, patting one of the dolls at the crotch. He leered. “But you’d know that, right?”

 There was nothing remotely arousing about that when he was that size and Jack bit back a frustrated sigh. “Look, just pick a few, okay? You don’t want to stay in that for weeks.”

 “You need to do better than that to get in my pants.” Brock leered once more before turning to the Kens. Rolling his eyes, he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Hawaii Ken, with this pastel, floral shirt. “Do you seriously expect me to wear that?”

 “It’d be a change of pace,” Jack snarked, grinning. He picked up Ballerina Barbie and dangled it in front of Brock. “Or you could always wear these.”

 “Didn’t know you had that kink,” Brock shot back dryly. “I’ll make sure to buy you one later.”

 Jack didn’t drop the Barbie, but only just. He nodded at the Hawaii Ken once more. “Only if you wear that.”

 Brock kicked the doll with a surprisingly amount of strength for his size. Ken crashed on the ground, bending in a way dolls weren’t meant to bend. “Try again.”

 And he was back to angry. Jack rocked back on his heels, scanning the dolls. Finding a Ken that looked like he belonged in the 90s, with his leather jacket and black jeans, he held it out. “What about this?’

 “That’s a fucking boy band. Do I look like a boy band?” Brock grimaced, swatting the doll away. Yet another casualty. Jack wasn’t going to pay for them.

 “They don’t really have an ‘army’ Ken,” Jack muttered under his breath, irritated. “Or—oh.” Sitting on the second highest shelf was a Ken with camouflage print. “They do have one. They really do have every profession covered.”

 “Stripper?” Brock suggested, leering again.

 “We’re trying to get you more clothes, not less.” Jack rolled his eyes, picking up a box featuring Barbie and a carriage. There were other ones, with motorcyles and horses and even a huge dollhouse. Brock would need a bed too, right? Somewhere safe he could rest without worrying if he got squashed. Tiny forks and plates so he could eat. “Maybe we can get one of those sets?”

 When he didn’t get a response, his eyes flicked up to the shelf Brock sat on. Or rather, had been sitting on because he wasn’t there anymore. “Brock?”

 Footsteps to his right alerted him to the reason his commander had disappeared. “Do you need help with anything, sir?” a kind but curious voice asked.

 Jack bit back a groan. Helpful employees were worse than dogs and almost impossible to shake off. Clearing his throat, Jack turned to his right and tried to smile. The way the woman flinched told him he’d failed. “No, I’m good.”

 Sporting a blue vest and jeans, the employee clasped her hands behind her back, her expression nervous. A bright yellow name tag identified her as Linda. “If you do need anything, let us know.” She paused looking at the doll in his hand and then smiled up at him. “Buying a gift for your daughter?”

 Automatically, he shook his head. “No.”

 “Oh.” Linda guessed again, “Your son?”

 “I don’t have—” Jack paused, realizing just how strange it was for a single grown man his size to be standing in the doll department. “Yes…it’s for my…niece,” he lied. He could almost hear Brock’s laugh; he was terrible at impromptu lies.

 “Right.” She gave him a strange look, her smile strained. “Of course. I’ll be…leaving now.”

 Without waiting for a response, Linda fled the aisle. The second she stepped outside the aisle, Brock laughed in earnest, jumping out of the shelf and onto Jack’s shoulder. “Your niece? Why are you so shitty at this?”

 “Shut up,” Jack growled, irritated.

 “Seriously, you can’t even come up with a—”

 Having had enough, Jack flicked Brock away with his finger, listening to his tiny yell as he flew through the air. Unfortunately, unlike a bug he didn’t go splat. Picking himself up off the ground, Brock shouted, “JACK!”

 No matter how strong his body was, he was still insanely slow, and Jack dropped several dolls and a dollhouse into his shopping cart before leaving.

 And if he threw in the Hawaii Ken, it was not out of some need for revenge. No, he got that just by watching Brock struggle to catch up as he marched through the store.

 -x-

 Today was a day full of firsts, including Jack sitting in the middle of his living room trying to assemble a Barbie playhouse. When this was over, he was burning the whole thing. Scattered around him were garish, bright pink plastic pieces, all waiting for him to force them together in the shape of a house.

 “I’m not living in there,” Brock stated flatly, picking up one of the tiny plates. At least it seemed the right size.

 “You don’t have to, but you need furniture, right? A bed, a chair, a table?” Jack listed out, flipping through the instruction manual for directions. How was this harder than planning a mission? It made no sense.

 “You’re spray painting them,” Brock ordered, dropping the plate. Good thing it was plastic.

 “What, can’t handle pink?” Jack teased. He winced as Brock punched his thigh. “Fuck, how does that hurt more than normal?”

 Brock shrugged. “Science.” Neither of them had been hired for their academics, after all. He patted the mattress of the bed doubtfully. “These aren’t made for sleeping.”

 “Better than nothing.” He turned the directions vertically, his mouth twisting as he tried to figure out how to screw together two pieces. And after this he had to make dinner—what should he do about that? Get a normal amount and give Brock less? Did Brock have a normal-sized appetite or a tiny-sized? Would he need to cut rice into tiny pieces?

 Suddenly, he didn’t want to finish making the dollhouse. It was the easiest thing on the list.

 -x-

 At the end of the day, Brock had somehow swung back from irritating to cute. Maybe it was dinner—a single spaghetti noddle chopped up into small pieces with a few drops of sauce. Maybe it was the tiny doll’s cup he drank from or the way he washed his face with a bottle cap full of water.

 Or maybe it as the way he ignored, in typical Brock fashion, the bed that Jack had painstakingly made and opted to instead sleep on Jack’s pillow.

 Jack tried not to smile as he gingerly laid his head down beside Brock.