Chapter Text
“Make way!”
“Coming through!”
Superman’s ears immediately caught the sound of three very familiar voices—Bruce, Barry, and Hal. He also recognized three distinct heartbeats that confirmed his suspicion. What gave him pause wasn’t their presence, but rather the urgency in their tone—and the fact that Bruce, of all people, hadn’t insisted on a tactical debrief first as they had just come back from a long mission.
More curious than concerned, Clark rose silently from his seat, levitating just above the floor as he peered into the corridor.
His eyes widened in surprise.
Hal was soaring down the hallway in haste, cradling a small creature with a long, curling tail protectively in his arms. Beside him, Barry kept pace on foot, carefully carrying Batman’s uniform—something that immediately struck Clark as odd. Bruce never allowed anyone to handle his suit, not even in emergencies.
The entire scene was strange enough to warrant concern. And if Bruce was involved in anything that bypassed protocol, Clark knew it had to be serious.
In a split-second decision driven by concern, Clark floated forward and aligned himself beside Barry, matching his pace with practiced ease.
“Flash, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with unmistakable worry. The expression on his face mirrored the urgency he now saw on both Barry and Hal's.
Barry didn’t stop moving, his words spilling out in a hurried tumble. “Batman got hit with a magic blast—and when we went to check on him, he was already in his panther form, but he’s smaller now—he’s a cub!”
The speedster’s speech was rapid, nearly tangled in his own breath, but Clark heard every word clearly. His eyes flicked toward Hal, who clutched the small, feline form protectively against his chest. The creature’s beautiful, glossy, black fur, its tiny ears, and the faint scowl on its youthful face, and the sleek, slightly spotted tail were enough to confirm the impossible truth.
Bruce. Had been turned into a cub.
Clark blinked once, then twice, trying to process the sight. Out of all the threats they’d faced, magic-induced de-aging hadn’t exactly made the top of the list—until now.
The Justice League had long known that Bruce was a Black Panther hybrid. It wasn’t classified, but it also wasn’t something he advertised. Over the years, they had caught glimpses—subtle flicks of a sleek tail beneath his cape during moments of stress, or the faint twitch of feline ears when his cowl was off and he thought no one was watching. But those were passing hints, restrained by his constant self-control and his deeply ingrained need for privacy.
Never had they seen him like this.
Now, cradled carefully in Hal’s arms, Bruce’s true nature was impossible to ignore. His fur was obsidian, gleaming under the sterile lights of the Watchtower, and his form—though smaller than expected—radiated an innocent warmth. His eyes were closed, unconscious, but he noticed the curl of his lashes and twitch of his nose.
It was animalistic beauty in its purest form, raw and dignified. For the first time, the League saw the panther not as a myth whispered about in the field, but as a living, breathing extension of the man they knew—and it was breathtaking.
“Dude, he got kidnapped like- five times on the way here!” Hal hissed, clearly exasperated, as Superman opened the doors to the medbay. The tension in the air didn’t ease even as they stepped inside—if anything, it thickened with the weight of what they were carrying.
Barry zipped across the room in a blur, grabbing bandages, antiseptic wipes, and a thermal blanket with practiced efficiency. Clark moved aside to let Hal gently place the unconscious cub onto the medbay bed with an ever gentle ‘plop’ , the small body limp but breathing steadily.
“I’ve never had to fend off so many people trying to ‘adopt’ something in my life,” Barry muttered, echoing Hal’s frustration as he slowed down for a moment. “One lady tried to throw a net over Hal. A net.”
Hal threw his arms up. “A net, man!”
Clark didn’t laugh—though he wanted to—but he did raise a brow as he scanned Bruce’s tiny form with his x-ray vision, checking for internal injuries. "He's stable," he said quietly. "Bruised and clearly drained, but nothing life-threatening."
Still, it was hard to focus entirely on the medical status when a very small, very fluffy Bruce was curled up on the medbay bed, tail twitching faintly as if still annoyed by all the hands that had touched him on the way over.
“Yeah, I did a scan too. My ring picked up traces of magic residue,” Hal said, standing beside the bed with his arms crossed. “But we should call John or Zatanna for a proper diagnosis—this kind of thing is way above our clearance level.”
Clark nodded, but his attention remained fixed on the cub lying before them.
Now that Bruce was no longer being jostled around, Clark finally had a clear, uninterrupted view of his animal form. He had thought the panther cub looked striking in Hal’s arms—graceful even in unconsciousness—but up close, it was something else entirely.
His fur was midnight black, but not flat or dull—each strand shimmered faintly under the medbay lights, revealing subtle rosettes in his coat that were otherwise invisible to the naked eye. The faintest hint of iridescence played across his back, like moonlight over water. His paws, though small, were powerful and thickly padded, claws half-unsheathed even in sleep. There was a dignity to his stillness, a kind of quiet, primal majesty that not even unconsciousness could dull.
Clark exhaled softly, eyebrows lifting. He was beautiful in this form, it’s almost a crime that he hasn’t his Bruce’s more mature and probably more elegant panther form.
A soft, emerald glow emanated from the cub as a small circular mattress materialized gently beneath him, accompanied by neatly folded blankets that settled carefully around his slight frame. Clark glanced to his left and noted the faint radiance of Hal’s ring, its light the source of the subtle manifestation.
Turning his gaze back to the black panther cub, Clark regarded the transformation with thoughtful consideration. “Can you determine what age he has been reverted to?” he inquired.
Barry, still intently focused on the scanner in his hand, nodded in response. “Yeah, I’m analyzing his vitals. Based on his respiratory and metabolic rates, I would say he’s around eighteen or nineteen years old—fresh out of high school.”
Clark’s eyes narrowed slightly as he absorbed the information. The magic that had altered Bruce’s form had evidently reverted not only his physical shape but also his age, thereby complicating the situation far beyond a mere shapeshift.
“Oh—hey—hey, he’s changing, I think,” Hal whispered, voice low with awe.
The cub’s body began to shimmer faintly beneath the gentle emerald light still lingering in the room. Slowly, a ripple passed through his sleek black fur, as if a shadow dissolving into the air. Muscles shifted beneath the glossy coat, elongating and straightening; paws receded into slender hands, and the tail curled inward—but not completely. A spotted tail remained visible, swaying gently behind him. Likewise, two velvety black ears perched atop his head, twitching subtly as he moved.
Before them now stood a young man, his features delicate yet striking. A soft button nose rested above lips tinted a gentle pink, parted slightly as if he were still adjusting to the change. His jawline was clear and defined, though not overly pronounced—a balance of youthful softness and quiet strength. Long, dark lashes curled over eyes still heavy with sleep, and the faintest dusting of freckles brushed across his rosy nose, lending an unexpected innocence to his appearance.
Midnight-black hair framed his face in loose curls that reached just past his neck, the strands curling gently near his cheekbones, softening the lines of his face and emphasizing his quiet vulnerability. The presence of his feline tail and ears lent him a striking, otherworldly grace.
Although bare, his intimate areas were covered by the materialized green glowing blanket from the Lantern’s ring.
“...Holy shit, he’s… gorgeous .”