Chapter Text
"My my, coloured me impressed for once." The elder man smiled, hand resting softly over Penelope's shoulder, large shadow creeping over her small frame.
Fear wracks through her body, spidey sense blarring, yelling, screaming at her to hide and get away from him. Every possibility flies through her mind, crashing and making everything a mess. All she can do is stare down at her dangling feet from where she's sat, legs too short to touch the ground.
Somehow even just the feeling of his breath tickling the back of her neck was enough to make her nauseous with fear. Though that's nothing new, Penelope Parker was always scared.
A pathetic, dorky pup who noone wants to look at for too long, lest they start to feel pity.
"Is.. This what you wanted..?" Her voice trembled softly, head still thrombing painfully from the wrench that was smashed into her skull just minutes before when she made a 'bad model'.
Penelope would argue that there's no such thing as 'bad models' or 'bad ideas'. Everything has a purpose and a use, it just depends on what and how you use it. Technically even double sided swords are useful. She likes to think that rather than it being a 'bad model', it's a model that just needs more refining, or maybe a different perspective needs to be considered.
Either way, asking an eleven year old to design a 'perfect weapon'.
It's quite literally impossible.
Realistically speaking, nothing in the universe is perfect. Stars and sun's eventually implode, all life is fated to at some point die, entropy, the damn human eye is the worst design evolution could have given humans. Well- no, not the worst, but could have been so much better.
"It's brilliant. You're brilliant, Penny, so perfect." He cups her face in his hand, leaning in close. Too close. "My little Einstein" His voice lowers to a whisper that invades her sensitive ears.
"I knew you could do it." Something in her twists at that. She's always prided herself on that fact that she's pretty intelligent. Of course, she doesn't think she's better than anyone else, but when you're five years old and doing an A level calculus worksheet for fun, it definitely separates you from what's expected from other kids your age.
Sometimes that separation could be a blessing and a curse. In school she never had to try, most of the curriculum was stuff she'd already done years ago, or otherwise it just came naturally. However it often led to bullying, or classmates outright taking advantage of her.
Don't get her wrong, she was no pushover. She'd prefer they stuff her head down the toilet than do their chemistry homework. But that didn't make up the fact that she was isolated, had no friends. Except Harry, but he was a totally different playing ground.
When being tasked with making something that performs perfectly? Absolutely no flaws, drawbacks or faults. It's daunting. Every scientists nightmare, one she wouldn't pressure even herself into. Trying to create perfection is a slippery slope.
"It's only the prototype. It still needs testing, and probably more safety coding" She rambles quietly, muttering under her breathe. Hoping if she babbles about something, it'll help her concentrate on something that isn't the large alpha currently in her face. "Fail safes, uh probably needs to be a different color. Something that can camouflage. Maybe a backup generator just incase."
Westcott just tuts quietly. "Such a chatterbox sometimes." He shakes his head, as if fond of the small yapping puppy. He runs a hand through her hair, to be comforting? Maybe just to check if the bleeding has stopped.
"Keep at it then. I have work" And with that he finally pulls away, and Penelope is able to take a small breathe of relief. A breathe she's thankful isn't a mouthful of his scent.
Only once she's heard him exit the apartment does she properly let herself relax. Slumping back in the chair, she glances over at the desk. A small petri dish, black gooey substance wriggling around. Resting her head on the desk, she reaches out a hand, index finger inching towards the goo. Slowly the sticky black tar substance reaches out too, touches the tip of her finger.
She can't hold back the soft giggle that escapes her lips. Cute.
The office is quiet, whirring from the electricity and tapping of a keyboard fills the large sterile room.
Bruce, still clad in a neat suit, keeps his eyes glued on the screen, hands well practised by now that he can even code without needing to actually look at the keyboard.
Looking over some documents sent by a new company. Westcott industries. Steven Westcott, thirty-five old, multiple degrees in bioengineering and biochemistry. As far as he's aware, it's yet another slick self appointed 'CEO' trying to slither his way into a Wayne enterprise partnership. And he'll have to sit through a two hour meeting with him in half an hour.
He's just glad to have his son with him, even if he did run off last minute to get an energy drink. Tim often tagged along to these meetings. He likes to critique and scare off frauds. Claims it's for the better of the company, Bruce think his teenage son just enjoys watching people squirm under his scrutiny.
Alot of the documents seem to be hush hush. Vague descriptions of high quality tech that will apparently bring about new safety and security to all of Gotham. It's quite a gamble to not even detail what products he'll be showing them. That by itself shows the cockiness of the man before they've even met him.
Tim will have a field day ripping into him.
Under normal circumstances, Bruce wouldn't give someone like that the time of day, especially someone who's childishly wanting to show off, and not even giving the proper documents to what his technology entails.
However, Bruce actually recognises the man, he attended university with him.
Well, technically Steven left halfway through his first year, and moved away to Queens New York. So they didn't really attend together.
He's not heard of anything from him since. Though he remembers the man's sporadic personality. Often lashed out at others, convinced he was always right. He even yelled at professors for grading his work, always upset that he wasn't receiving the grade he deserved. Can you blame Bruce for being curious as to how he's turned out?
"Mr Wayne, Westcott has entered the building. Shall I have him escorted up?" His assistant Margaret announces, over the speaker.
Bruce taps out a quick message to his son before answering. "Yes, send him up in five minutes."
Now call Tim an asshole. Go ahead, you'd be right on the mark. But this guy? Totally surpasses him in assholeness. He could tell the moment this man walked in, with his smug smile, relaxed posture as If what he was about to present was going to make him a genius billionaire.
"Small and compact, they don't even make a sound. Not to mention, the footage is perfect quality, and in color. So much better than normal security cameras" Westscott blabbers on. Tim just raises an eyebrow at the audacity. Already marking every flaw in the "Photon Drones" as they're called. Basically small drones, that are circle around properties, recording and reporting crimes in real time.
"So, you'd like us to distribute these drones?" Tim asks, interrupting the man's pitch.
"Sell them." Westcott smiles, yet both Bruce and Tim see straight through his forced smile.
"Ah, so sell them. Like a replacement to security cameras?" Tim almost scoffs.
"And they can alert the police by themselves?" Bruce adds on.
"Yes, exactly. Photon drones ensure safely even if you're away from home." The man nods proudly. Showing off how the drone can float over his shoulder with just a tap from his phone.
"Let me get this straight, so we're on the same page. We sell these drones, spread them across Gotham." Tim starts, staring the man down with a sharp look. "And what? Give anyone who can hack them mass surveillance over the city?" The teenager leans in slightly, as if challenging the elder man.
Westcott curses internally. This whole interview has been going to shit since he stepped foot inside. Tim Drake, the CEO and hense most important person he had to convince just kept asking question after question.
These weren't his creations, hell they weren't even his designs. Of course, he's not stupid, he can answer things to a certain level. He'd expected them to be happy with his answers, afterall, all he had to do was spout out some complicated words and terms. They'd be out of their depth.
Or they should have been.
Actually he'd be willing to bet everything starting going downhill as early as yesterday night. Afterall, a day before your very important pitch, you should have everything prepared. Imagine his shock when he learnt that the stupid pup he took in had barely finished making the weapon he'd asked for a day prior.
Now he's stuck with only two products out of the three.
As far as he knows, Bruce Wayne and all his sons were playboy fools. He never expected them to be so sharp. No, actually he never expected them to care so much. So what? So what If someone hacks them?
Gotham adored Bruce Wayne and all his kids. So if he promotes and partners up with him, it's guaranteed that everyone in Gotham will buy his tech.
"Well, they aren't exactly easy to hack" He mutters, his painted look of confidence beginning to fail as he scrambles to save this. The city was deeply untrustworthy. If his tech was ever gonna sale, he needed Bruce Wayne to be the one promoting it. Needed the idiot playboy to promise the city would be safer with Westcotts new brilliant tech.
"And why's that? What safety measures have you taken?" Bruce asks. He's definitely impressed by the technology, it's good. No doubt.
But anyone with knowledge on machines and technology could tell that these can easily be turned from a sheild protecting civilians, into a weapon targeting them. He refused to possibly endanger the city like that.
"I-" The man started, but was quickly cut off.
"Got anything else you'd like to share?" The raven haired boy sighs, leaning back into his chair again. Watching with a satisfied glint in his eye as the man visibly got angry. Ragebait success.
The realisation that a teenager was making a fool out of him made him furious. "I do. I have plenty. However, as my daughter is currently sick, I must take my leave." He says calmly, despite the anger brewing inside.
"Have a good day, Westscott" Bruce stands up to politely open to door and let the man out.
In the end Bruce wasn't surprised. Perhaps he had been waiting to see if the man had changed or not, waiting to see if he'd become a better person. He always assumed people were capable of change, bettering themselves over the years.
Alas, Westcott seemed to be the exact same man he was that many years ago.
"What a fool" Tim mumbles. "Why do you even let these guys come in?"
"I knew him"
"You did? Oh hell nah, you didn't like- Hook up with that bastard did you?"
"What? No. We attended the same college for awhile." The alpha crosses his arms, with an expression of slight disgust at the very idea.
"Right, right."
The teenager pulls out his laptop, from god knows where, and begins pulling up files. "Say, B. Didn't he say he made those drones?"
"He did."
"Well, he does have a degree in engineering. Its legit, from a Uni in Queens." Tim begins, staring at his screen, scrolling down. "But I think he's a fraud."
Bruce looks over the files his son is searching through "He couldn't name a single safety measure." He nods, agreeing.
He waited two months. Two fucking months for a reply.
Wayne Enterprises isn’t interested in surveillance partnerships at this time. Best of luck.
Fucking bastards! He slams his hands down on his desk. It sounds through the entire room, making a certain someone jolt out of her skin.
"What are you flinching at? It's your technology that got rejected! You fail me, every single fucking time!" He reaches out to grab the girls hair, pulling it harshly, causing the pup to fall. Yet he didn't care. He never cared. Not that she was his late friends daughter, not that she was a meta, or a genius. Nothing about her mattered.
The only thing he's ever asked of her was success. Yet the only thing the pup, who was supposed to be a genius did was fail. Nothing like her father or mother. A waste of genetic material that could've passed on better offspring.
"Rejected..?" Her voice trembles. Penelope had worked for days on the Photon drones. Was the idea that terrible? They were so safe, and durable. They could survive in the harshest of weather, they could do everything!
"Yes. Your idea, your creations failed." He spits out, kicking the girl in the side. She barely even reacts. Just staring down at her calloused hands.
"I'll do better.."
"You will. Afterall, next week is the expo. Perhaps Wayne can fuck me over." He says with a rough tone, leaning back in his office chair. "But with a little PR, I'm sure all can be fixed."
"Expo? What expo..?" The pup asks, looking up finally.
He tugs her closer, so she's got her head in his lap from where she's on the floor. Plucking a piece of paper from his desk, before reading it aloud. "Gotham’s Brightest: Young Innovators Expo. Attendees 12-18, venue Gotham High school auditorium. Now doesn't that sound fun?" He hums.
"But, I'm eleven" Penelope mumbles, gazing up at the alpha. Fiddling nervously with her long sleeves, slightly damp from where she'd been chewing of them earlier.
"Yes, but you're also my adorable sick daughter. Are you not?" He smiles sickly, scent almost choking her.
Quickly she pulls herself together, nodding softly. He'd often refer to her as his sick daughter. Since he kept her locked up here most of the time, and he needed an excuse why she didn't go to school. "Uhm..Yes..Yes sir."
Before the spider bite, she actually was sick often. An unlucky mix of asthma, weak immune system and terribly eyesight was all on her health records. The alpha always got away with saying the pup had pneumonia, showing signs of anemia, possibly the flu. Nobody questioned a thing.
"And what monsters would stop an adorable sick puppy from showing off her passion in technology? Now. Piss off" He pushes the girl roughly off him. Not even batting an eye as she falls onto her side.
She stands up, a little shakily before returning to the lab. She didn't have a bedroom, wasn't allowed one. The pup was only allowed to work in the lab, and if she was tired, she could sleep on the floor with a small blanket.
Her socked feet patted quietly against the cold floor. Sitting at the laboratory desk, her eyes first meet the black tar in the petri dish, before setting her gaze onto a small robotic spider.
"And do I have to do this?" Dick groans as Bruce helps him with his hair, pushing it back and away from his face.
"Well, Tim refused this year."
"He's still here though!" Dick huffs, pointed at his younger brother, who was lining his waterline with black eyeliner.
Tim just shrugged, finishing up with his eyeliner before popping the cap on. "Yeah, and I don't like making kids cry" He smiled, stepping closer to pat the elder on the shoulder.
"You think I do!?" Dick snaps "I love pups, ya know they're cute and squishy. But uh- Judging their hard work and telling them that another is better? Harsh." He sighs, already imagining the sad faces of the pups he's gonna have to see today.
"Dick, its only for appearances. I'm sure in the end you'll enjoy it." His father spoke up, playing with a ringlet in Dick's hair "Most of the pups here are quite mature and actually want their work to be fairly critiqued" Bruce finishes his hair, before softly scenting his sons shoulder.
Normally Bruce wouldn't attend these sorts of things. Sure they're cute. Kids showing off their genius, but it's only fun when it's your kid up there. Like three years ago but Tim won with a robot that pours coffee, or thirteen years before that when Dick won with a parkour based mobility harness.
But WE is holding this as a charity event this year. He and his sons will he making a surprise appearance and offering the money made to schools for disabled children.
"Cmon, it'll start soon. Let's get seated."
With that, Tim sat amongst the back, seemingly just there to talk to Kon, who'd brought Jon to support his friend who was taking part.
Bruce sits on the left. His son next to him. The rest of the judges chairs filled by professors.
Penelopes hands shake as she paces in the girls bathroom. She doesn't wanna do this, she doesn't want too- she wants to go home. Go home to Aunt May and Ben. She wants May and Ben. She wants home.
Breathing heavily, she looks into the mirror, somewhere in the back of her mind thanking the universe that the restroom was empty. Who wants to see a weird kid having a panic attack afterall?
This place is full off confident kids, all older than her. Smarter, better. She was given a week to make something 'Cute, humble, genius'. You know how fucking vague those descriptions are? Incredibly fucking vague!
She doesn't care about winning. More about Westscotts reactions and uh being on a stage. Has she ever mentioned that she hates stages? Actually she just hates people.
The only time she's ever felt secure and confident is the few times she's gone out as spidergirl.
Ya know, bitten by a radioactive spider gave her super cool powers. She can stick to walls! Fucking walls! She was a super cool superhero, or she was for five months. Westscott won't let her out on patrol anyone. He even went as far as to destroy her suit that she'd worked so hard on.
Apparently all she's allowed to do is stay in that laboratory and make shit for him. She wishes she could run away but..She has nowhere to go. Nobody wants her.
At first she'd dawned the spidergirl mask because she wanted to avenge Uncle Bens death. Hate and anger had gotten the best of her, and for some weird reason when she first got her powers she assumed she was invincible. Its still her greatest regret that she nearly beat that man to death.
Of course, then she had a much needed change of heart, and started dawning the mask for good. To help people, like she's always wanted to do. Talking to people as spidergirl was amazing, refreshing. It wasn't scary. Not even being threatened with guns was scary. Because spidergirl is strong. She's strong and brave.
But Penelope is not.
Staring at her reflection, all she can see is red rimmed brown eyes, framed by big glasses. Trembling bitten lips and a stupid dress. It's pretty, but Impractical. She wants pockets. Damn it, pockets would really be so amazing right now. So practical and useful. Is she about to cry again over pockets?
"Penny! You ready?" The nice register lady yells out through the hall.
"Uh- j-just a minute!" She yells back, voice breaking pathetically. Quickly rubbing her eyes and fixing her long curly hair, she takes a deep breathe. Something about her rapid heartbeat tells her she's still mid panic attack. But who is Penelope Parker if not a fantastic pretender?
Shuffling out of the bathroom, ignoring the harsh flickering headlights she walks quickly to behind the stage. About seven other kids. Which means that five kids have already presented their creations. When will it be her turn?
"Thank you, James. That was fantastic" A professor says clapping for the young boys computer program.
Dick is loving this more than he expected. Maybe it's because him and Wally have been talking about adopting a pup soon. He's just so happy seeing all these cute squishy babies gush over what they've made. Okay the supposed 'babies' are mostly teenagers, but adorable nonetheless.
Is this why Bruce comes to these events? Charity his ass. The alpha just adores puppies.
"Next up, Penelope May Westscott. Please come to the stage."
Dick feels the moment his father freezes. "Something wrong B?"
"Hn, nothing" The man mutters back. Eyes now carefully practiced on the stage. Before he was gazing gently at the pups. Now his gaze is sharp. Weird.
Dicks heart squeezes when he sees the most adorable pup walk onto the stage. A pretty frilly white dress, the biggest doe brown eyes he's ever seen. Pretty long curly hair, and big dorky glasses. He cant help but coo under his breath at her shaky hands and red rimmed eyes. Poor baby must be nervous.
It takes Dick a moment to pull his eyes off her to the man standing behind her, hand on the pups shoulder. Wearing a lab coat and a smug look he leads his kid out onto the stage and to the small table at center. Or Dick assumes that she's his kid. The man picks up the microphone and begins
"Hello, My name is Steven Westscott. This is my precious pup, Penelope. She's only eleven and quite shy. I'd like to say a thank you to the organisers for letting her participate even though she's a little young." He says charmingly, flashing a bright smile to the judges and audience behind.
Dick glances over to Bruce, noting that the man isn't glaring at the little baby, but this Steven guy. Dick leans back, crossing his arms. If you ask him, this guy is just showing her off. Though it makes sense that he would proudly advertise her like this. Really, she belongs in a pageant with how cute she is.
"She's always been frail and sick, but incredibly talented. And I'm so proud of her." The man smiles down at her, and it's so fake that Dick wants to punch him, and then maybe steal his pup. Bruce actually looks ready.
Annoyingly enough, the judges and audience fall for it and clap, cheering for this 'amazing supportive dad' and his painfully sweet pup. Dick
Finally the man steps back, and the little one is aloud to speak.
"Uh- h-hello"
Even her voice is fucking adorable. Dick needs a picture, no a video to show his mate.
"Thank you for having me here.. Uhm I made a- a" She stutters with a shaky voice. Incredibly different from the other older pups that strutted onto the stage, heads high and even cracked jokes.
"I made a robot.. His name is Benjimin" From her hair crawls out a fist sized tarantula. For a moment everyone is frozen still, before they realise that the spider is the robot.
She holds him in the palm of her hand.
"He's small and easy to carry around, uhm..He can stick to any uh..surface" The small robot suddenly jumps onto the roof of the stage, crawling around before landing one again in her curly hair and crawling back down into her palm.
"H-he uh.. He uhm.." She recoils, unable to actually look at Any of the judges, instead staring at Benjamin. Penelope can feel her small protein bar she ate for breakfast fighting to come back up.
"H-he.. He monitors glucose, blood pressure, seizure activity and respiratory distress. He works similar to a service dog."
One of the judges speaks up, a professor is a navy suit "And how does that work?" His eyes narrow at the girl.
"Oh, uhm he measures different sensors on your body. I can show you i-if you'd like"
"Please." The professor nods.
The robot is placed down onto the table and begins to scan the small pup. "There's a screen on his belly with icons. I-I thought the pictures would be easier for kids to understand.." The pup smiles, albeit a little awkwardly.
She turns over the spider and shows her blood pressure. Unfortunately it's a very high reading of 128/80 mmHg. But she hopes the professors aren't good at biology?
Then Bruce speaks up. "But how is he doing that kiddo? What sensors is he measuring?"
"O-oh.." Penelopes head pops up to look at the other judge who asked. She quickly looks away again, hoping she doesn't seem too impolite. "Uhm his abdomen has a pulse oximeter, uhm.. and uh his eyes have cameras with multiple lenses, like infrared heat, which helps him detect for poor circulation and fever.. He also has standard camera and he's programed to check eye pupils, complexion and breathing patterns.."
Bruce nods, and Dick can see that his father is satisfied with the answer. "Then what about limitations?" In Bruce's opinion. This is the most important question. A great creator must be able to admit their creations limitations. Or at the least know about them. For example Westcott when asked told Bruce his Photon drones were perfect.
"It has some limitations.. It can't read accurately through clothes and for him to take measurements, he needs to be touching skin. Depending on what he's measuring he might need to be sat somewhere with thinner skin or closer to arteries..Oh but uh.. he's programed to go where its optimal for the measurement he's doing." She adds on quietly, in the end quite thankful for the microphone because she can't for the life of her speak any louder without her voice breaking.
Dick smiles. She's a little clumsy with her explanations. But her eyes have lit up now and she's stuttering less. Just like Wally when he's explaining things.
Dick thinks the pups eyes could light up Gotham’s dark gloomy skies.
"That's amazing, pup. And it's meant to be used by people with all sorts of ailments?"
"Uhm..Yeah. N-not everything of course. Its not miracle technology.. But Benjamin can help with alot of basic stuff.."
"Thank you for your time Miss Westscott"
The small pup gathers the spider into her palms and shuffles off stage, Dick gets a glimpse of Steven picking her up with a bright smile before they both disappear behind the curtain. If only she was an orphan.
He should really stalk Westscott. Just casual checking for criminal records. Definitely not anything that could purposely get the pup taken out of his care. No no no, Dick would never.
How Much would Tim charge for him to dig some dirt up on the guy?