Fic: (Un)Infected | DCU | Bruce/Jason, Dick, the Oracle | PG-13 | 1/1
Title: (Un)Infected
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce/Jason, Dick, the Oracle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,797
Prompt: For hc_bingo: Pandemics and Epidemics; For au_bingo: Historical: Ancient Civilization
Summary: The Oracle sees all.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Twenty-first in the (Un)Familiar-verse; follows (Un)Invited.
(Un)Infected
The way things are going, Bruce could really use a little distraction right now.
“...skulking about, waiting to just get in my way. Probably don't even-”
“That's not true, and you know it, Jason. Tim and I are working on sensing from a distance. Not my fault our paths keep crossing,” Dick shoots back in defense, his form seeming to shine on the monitor in the Cave. “Maybe you should find someplace else to do your own skulking about.”
Jason growls back, moving into a combat posture, his hands actually shifting to the Wolf's claws and his eyes glowing in lupine fury. “Not gonna happen. You'd better find another place to train Tim, because I won't hide in my own house. You might've been here first, but I've been here longer, and I'm the one sharing Bruce's bed.”
With a stab of an index finger and an exasperated sigh, Bruce cuts off the security feed from the top floor hallway. Let the boys work out their own problems right now. Of course it'll all come back to bite him in the ass, with the way things have been complete chaos since Dick moved back in a week ago, the tension and bickering almost as bad as it was when Tim first came into the Manor, but really, Bruce has just about reached his limit. Something's got to give, either them, or him.
He'd rather it was them.
Honestly though, he should've known better than to throw someone like Dick in with Jason. It's well-known that the faerie folk don't get along with vampires and weres, adding to the strife between those two groups as competing predators; the faeries simply throw them all off their game, and it makes for the worst mess imaginable. It's making Jason crazy now, and even Tim has been a little skittish with Dick on occasion.
Perhaps Bruce should go ahead and commit himself to Arkham for this whole endeavor, because only a madman would dare to bring all these people together. It would at least give him the vacation he knows he deserves. Maybe then they'd all decide to get along. Hmph.
Barring that unlikely outcome, all he can do for now is try to stay out of everyone's way when he's not busy defusing Jason's temper. Down in the Cave, at least he can get a little peace and quiet, write up a few missions-not that there've been many since the house became so filled-maybe even get in a workout before the others descend to start their afternoon training sessions. Oddly, just being left to himself for a short while feels enough like the vacation he wants that he's sure it's a bad sign.
A year ago, he'd have gone to extreme lengths just for company that didn't shift into an animal form unpredictably. Things have changed, for certain.
Figuring he should check on the boys one more time in-between case reports, Bruce clicks to open the hallway feed again.
But instead of the camera footage of the hallway, static fills the screen, abruptly hissing and popping. Other screens start to flicker, and he's sure that something has gone seriously awry. Working quickly, he tries to get his screens back up, saving, rebooting, chasing down whatever anomaly seems to suddenly be eating through his system so quickly. It becomes more and more apparent that the entire Cave computer network is frying, and panic sets in, adrenaline shooting through him as he works to head off the damage.
When seven of his screens go blank at once, the rest down to static and popping, Bruce freezes, nearly drops his head into his hands, and stifles a groan. He should have known that asking the universe for a distraction would bring something catastrophic down on his head. Nearly a year spent building this system from scratch, and it'll all have to be completely replaced, all his files now either lost or corrupted, unrecoverable and gone forever if his back-ups have been affected as well.
“Hello, Batman,” a smooth woman's voice suddenly greets him, seeming to emanate from the very air around him as the blank screens are replaced by a logo with a large, green, glowing eye flanked by golden eagle wings.
“Oracle,” Bruce says, his panic only barely subsiding as it turns to anger. If the Oracle is involved with whatever's eaten his network, then only very bad things could be afoot; the Oracle doesn't make house-calls for nothing, after all, and wherever she spreads her prophecies, disaster tends to follow.
There's a low chuckle, and the voice continues, “Correct. I am the Pythia, the Oracle. I see all.”
Raising an eyebrow, Bruce scowls. “And?”
“And your system is currently being overrun by a virus that is almost impossible to detect, and even harder to kill, only vulnerable as it begins its attack. It has lain dormant for many months without your knowledge, and I have been monitoring your network for some time, waiting to see if the virus would strike. It has, and only I can stop it, as I have eradicated the virus from all other systems.”
Bruce resists slapping his forehead with an open palm. “Of course it has. I suppose you're here to foretell my doom, then.” He hopes she isn't, but then, according to his spotty intel, her prophesies always go bad. Always. He's long suspected that her appearances are a dog-and-pony show, all computer savvy, predictive reasoning, pattern recognition, and no real supernatural ability; now everything seems clear. If there even is a virus, she's chosen his weakest moment to come forward.
Just like every other fortune teller he's met, she's a grifter looking to part him from his money and his secrets. It would explain everything he's heard about the Ancient, All-Seeing Pythia. Of course she's nothing like the faerie folk, contrary to what she'd have the world believe. There's nothing but hacking behind her mask of mysticism.
“I am,” she replies after a long moment, seeming almost distracted, as if she's actually working. “As your computer is a hub, with connections to many networks, including the system at Wayne Industries, if this virus were to spread from your system to any other, all of Gotham would be infected in less than a day. The entire world in just a week. Your network could be responsible for the wiping of every bit of digital data on Earth.”
Pushing back from the console, Bruce watches as his screens begin to flicker randomly again, static and code and his current case files all flashing in what seems to be a random pattern, all without his input.
Damn him for thinking the Cave computer was more secure in the first place. His own lack of foresight is simply... inexcusable. He should have been more vigilant. Shouldn't have let things with his boys get so out of hand as to steal his focus.
That doesn't mean the Oracle isn't blameless in this, though; righteous indignation at himself only goes so far.
“How do I know you aren't actually planting this virus yourself?” he starts carefully, watching the screens and noting which files have been accessed. “How do I know anything about you? I clearly can't trust you, seeing as you've hacked my system.”
A low laugh fills the cave, echoing off the ceiling and stalactites high above. “It is natural for you to distrust me, Batman. How can one trust what one cannot see? Especially one who gains entrance so easily.”
“You're proving my point, Oracle.”
“Merely pointing out the obvious. Shall I prove to you my good will?”
Bruce snorts, ignoring the twitch of his eye as a number of his most secure files flash on several of his screens. “I think that's the general idea.”
“All right,” Oracle replies.
When Bruce's triple password-protected, encrypted journal folders begin to open on three of the screens, the files listed neatly by date only, he shoots out of his chair, stabbing at the keyboard to try to close them, to no avail. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Without even opening these files, I can see easily that they point to quite intriguing things.”
His heart leaps right up into his throat, all his worst fears come true. “You wouldn't,” he grinds out as his pulse thunders in his ears. This can't be happening. They'll all be ruined if the Oracle gets her hands on what those files contain. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He never should've written down his thoughts on the way his household has been changing.
“I would not. I will not. I do not need to pry into these or any other files to see what is clear. And what I see is that you love your Wolf. You care deeply for your vampire boy, your faerie, the blind girl, the young mother, the baby. You are grateful to the spirit of your household retainer. You are scared.”
Bruce starts to protest, his face burning and skin itching with the sudden shame of feeling so exposed, so naked. “I'm not-”
“You are. I need not read the words or view your security feeds to know it. I know all.”
Breathing deep, Bruce forces himself to sit down, to unclench his fists and his jaw. “You're a charlatan.”
The Oracle chuckles again. “Am I? Would a charlatan know that your household is transforming as surely as your Wolf does? In just three months time, the board will be set, the pieces in place. All will be as it should, and a final confrontation will take place.”
With that, everything vanishes from Bruce's screens, the Oracle Eye replacing his files. Bruce doesn't know what's just happened, but the sudden ice in his veins tells him that the prophet isn't finished.
“What I do is not simply skill with a computer, Batman. My abilities go hand in hand. What I do not see, I can find. What I cannot find, I see. And I see your world changing around you in ways that you have yet to comprehend.”
Bruce resists the urge to spit out a retort, biting his cheek instead.
“When you reboot your network, you will find a new encryption in place. The virus is now eradicated, and Gotham and the world will be safe from its disease. In the future, I suggest you undertake an even more advanced security. I also suggest you check on your Wolf. Farewell, Batman.”
The Oracle Eye disappears from his screens then, the echoing voice fading to silence in the Cave, and Bruce wastes no time rebooting the system and bringing up the security feeds from upstairs.
Sure enough, Jason is sprawled out on the landing at the top of the stairs, cradling his hand and snarling to himself, the wall close by sporting a new fist-sized hole.
Perhaps... perhaps Bruce was wrong about the Oracle. Her vague words replaying in his head, he mulls over her meaning. Three months time, she said. Three months. Until what, exactly?
How could he possibly be distracted now?
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Bruce/Jason, Dick, the Oracle
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,797
Prompt: For hc_bingo: Pandemics and Epidemics; For au_bingo: Historical: Ancient Civilization
Summary: The Oracle sees all.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Twenty-first in the (Un)Familiar-verse; follows (Un)Invited.
(Un)Infected
The way things are going, Bruce could really use a little distraction right now.
“...skulking about, waiting to just get in my way. Probably don't even-”
“That's not true, and you know it, Jason. Tim and I are working on sensing from a distance. Not my fault our paths keep crossing,” Dick shoots back in defense, his form seeming to shine on the monitor in the Cave. “Maybe you should find someplace else to do your own skulking about.”
Jason growls back, moving into a combat posture, his hands actually shifting to the Wolf's claws and his eyes glowing in lupine fury. “Not gonna happen. You'd better find another place to train Tim, because I won't hide in my own house. You might've been here first, but I've been here longer, and I'm the one sharing Bruce's bed.”
With a stab of an index finger and an exasperated sigh, Bruce cuts off the security feed from the top floor hallway. Let the boys work out their own problems right now. Of course it'll all come back to bite him in the ass, with the way things have been complete chaos since Dick moved back in a week ago, the tension and bickering almost as bad as it was when Tim first came into the Manor, but really, Bruce has just about reached his limit. Something's got to give, either them, or him.
He'd rather it was them.
Honestly though, he should've known better than to throw someone like Dick in with Jason. It's well-known that the faerie folk don't get along with vampires and weres, adding to the strife between those two groups as competing predators; the faeries simply throw them all off their game, and it makes for the worst mess imaginable. It's making Jason crazy now, and even Tim has been a little skittish with Dick on occasion.
Perhaps Bruce should go ahead and commit himself to Arkham for this whole endeavor, because only a madman would dare to bring all these people together. It would at least give him the vacation he knows he deserves. Maybe then they'd all decide to get along. Hmph.
Barring that unlikely outcome, all he can do for now is try to stay out of everyone's way when he's not busy defusing Jason's temper. Down in the Cave, at least he can get a little peace and quiet, write up a few missions-not that there've been many since the house became so filled-maybe even get in a workout before the others descend to start their afternoon training sessions. Oddly, just being left to himself for a short while feels enough like the vacation he wants that he's sure it's a bad sign.
A year ago, he'd have gone to extreme lengths just for company that didn't shift into an animal form unpredictably. Things have changed, for certain.
Figuring he should check on the boys one more time in-between case reports, Bruce clicks to open the hallway feed again.
But instead of the camera footage of the hallway, static fills the screen, abruptly hissing and popping. Other screens start to flicker, and he's sure that something has gone seriously awry. Working quickly, he tries to get his screens back up, saving, rebooting, chasing down whatever anomaly seems to suddenly be eating through his system so quickly. It becomes more and more apparent that the entire Cave computer network is frying, and panic sets in, adrenaline shooting through him as he works to head off the damage.
When seven of his screens go blank at once, the rest down to static and popping, Bruce freezes, nearly drops his head into his hands, and stifles a groan. He should have known that asking the universe for a distraction would bring something catastrophic down on his head. Nearly a year spent building this system from scratch, and it'll all have to be completely replaced, all his files now either lost or corrupted, unrecoverable and gone forever if his back-ups have been affected as well.
“Hello, Batman,” a smooth woman's voice suddenly greets him, seeming to emanate from the very air around him as the blank screens are replaced by a logo with a large, green, glowing eye flanked by golden eagle wings.
“Oracle,” Bruce says, his panic only barely subsiding as it turns to anger. If the Oracle is involved with whatever's eaten his network, then only very bad things could be afoot; the Oracle doesn't make house-calls for nothing, after all, and wherever she spreads her prophecies, disaster tends to follow.
There's a low chuckle, and the voice continues, “Correct. I am the Pythia, the Oracle. I see all.”
Raising an eyebrow, Bruce scowls. “And?”
“And your system is currently being overrun by a virus that is almost impossible to detect, and even harder to kill, only vulnerable as it begins its attack. It has lain dormant for many months without your knowledge, and I have been monitoring your network for some time, waiting to see if the virus would strike. It has, and only I can stop it, as I have eradicated the virus from all other systems.”
Bruce resists slapping his forehead with an open palm. “Of course it has. I suppose you're here to foretell my doom, then.” He hopes she isn't, but then, according to his spotty intel, her prophesies always go bad. Always. He's long suspected that her appearances are a dog-and-pony show, all computer savvy, predictive reasoning, pattern recognition, and no real supernatural ability; now everything seems clear. If there even is a virus, she's chosen his weakest moment to come forward.
Just like every other fortune teller he's met, she's a grifter looking to part him from his money and his secrets. It would explain everything he's heard about the Ancient, All-Seeing Pythia. Of course she's nothing like the faerie folk, contrary to what she'd have the world believe. There's nothing but hacking behind her mask of mysticism.
“I am,” she replies after a long moment, seeming almost distracted, as if she's actually working. “As your computer is a hub, with connections to many networks, including the system at Wayne Industries, if this virus were to spread from your system to any other, all of Gotham would be infected in less than a day. The entire world in just a week. Your network could be responsible for the wiping of every bit of digital data on Earth.”
Pushing back from the console, Bruce watches as his screens begin to flicker randomly again, static and code and his current case files all flashing in what seems to be a random pattern, all without his input.
Damn him for thinking the Cave computer was more secure in the first place. His own lack of foresight is simply... inexcusable. He should have been more vigilant. Shouldn't have let things with his boys get so out of hand as to steal his focus.
That doesn't mean the Oracle isn't blameless in this, though; righteous indignation at himself only goes so far.
“How do I know you aren't actually planting this virus yourself?” he starts carefully, watching the screens and noting which files have been accessed. “How do I know anything about you? I clearly can't trust you, seeing as you've hacked my system.”
A low laugh fills the cave, echoing off the ceiling and stalactites high above. “It is natural for you to distrust me, Batman. How can one trust what one cannot see? Especially one who gains entrance so easily.”
“You're proving my point, Oracle.”
“Merely pointing out the obvious. Shall I prove to you my good will?”
Bruce snorts, ignoring the twitch of his eye as a number of his most secure files flash on several of his screens. “I think that's the general idea.”
“All right,” Oracle replies.
When Bruce's triple password-protected, encrypted journal folders begin to open on three of the screens, the files listed neatly by date only, he shoots out of his chair, stabbing at the keyboard to try to close them, to no avail. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Without even opening these files, I can see easily that they point to quite intriguing things.”
His heart leaps right up into his throat, all his worst fears come true. “You wouldn't,” he grinds out as his pulse thunders in his ears. This can't be happening. They'll all be ruined if the Oracle gets her hands on what those files contain. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He never should've written down his thoughts on the way his household has been changing.
“I would not. I will not. I do not need to pry into these or any other files to see what is clear. And what I see is that you love your Wolf. You care deeply for your vampire boy, your faerie, the blind girl, the young mother, the baby. You are grateful to the spirit of your household retainer. You are scared.”
Bruce starts to protest, his face burning and skin itching with the sudden shame of feeling so exposed, so naked. “I'm not-”
“You are. I need not read the words or view your security feeds to know it. I know all.”
Breathing deep, Bruce forces himself to sit down, to unclench his fists and his jaw. “You're a charlatan.”
The Oracle chuckles again. “Am I? Would a charlatan know that your household is transforming as surely as your Wolf does? In just three months time, the board will be set, the pieces in place. All will be as it should, and a final confrontation will take place.”
With that, everything vanishes from Bruce's screens, the Oracle Eye replacing his files. Bruce doesn't know what's just happened, but the sudden ice in his veins tells him that the prophet isn't finished.
“What I do is not simply skill with a computer, Batman. My abilities go hand in hand. What I do not see, I can find. What I cannot find, I see. And I see your world changing around you in ways that you have yet to comprehend.”
Bruce resists the urge to spit out a retort, biting his cheek instead.
“When you reboot your network, you will find a new encryption in place. The virus is now eradicated, and Gotham and the world will be safe from its disease. In the future, I suggest you undertake an even more advanced security. I also suggest you check on your Wolf. Farewell, Batman.”
The Oracle Eye disappears from his screens then, the echoing voice fading to silence in the Cave, and Bruce wastes no time rebooting the system and bringing up the security feeds from upstairs.
Sure enough, Jason is sprawled out on the landing at the top of the stairs, cradling his hand and snarling to himself, the wall close by sporting a new fist-sized hole.
Perhaps... perhaps Bruce was wrong about the Oracle. Her vague words replaying in his head, he mulls over her meaning. Three months time, she said. Three months. Until what, exactly?
How could he possibly be distracted now?
~*~*~*~