Games and Cake
The morning light filtered through the curtains, waking Peter up from his long and restless sleep. Another set of nightmares kept him awake. He groaned, curling deeper under the covers, but the sound of approaching footsteps meant his peace wouldn’t last much longer.
“Wake up, birthday boy!”
Peter barely had time to react before the weight of an excited older brother crashed onto his bed.
“Dick!” Peter yelped, groggily trying to push him off.
“No use fighting it, kid,” Dick grinned, ruffling his hair. “Today’s your day, and we’ve got plans.”
Peter blinked up, still adjusting to the sudden intrusion. Just beyond Dick, Bruce stood in the doorway, arms crossed but with a soft smile on his face.
“Come on,” Bruce said. “Everyone’s waiting.”
Dick rolled off the bed with unnecessary flair, something he liked to do to show off his acrobatic talents. He threw Petter over his shoulder, still half-asleep but unable to fight back a smile.
As soon as they stepped into the dining room, a loud, enthusiastic “Happy Birthday, Peter!” rang through the air. Dick placed Peter on the cold ground.
The table was already set with a massive spread—pancakes, waffles, eggs, and even a ridiculous amount of bacon. Alfred sat at the end of the table, perfectly composed despite the chaos, while Cass and Steph waved from their seats. Damian sat with his arms crossed, attempting to look cool. Duke grinned from across the table, and Jason—already halfway through a plate of food—gave Peter a nod. Tim sat half asleep at the table, drinking his coffee.
Peter hesitated for a second, his chest tightening at seeing them all there for him.
Bruce placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Sit. Eat.”
Peter swallowed and did just that, sliding into his seat as everyone started talking again.
Duke, who sat next to Peter, grabbed a plate and started to stake food on it before placing it in front of Peter.
“Thank you.” Peter grabbed his fork before looking around the room. “If everyone is here, who’s watching Gotham?” He looked at Dick, who had taken the seat across from him, filling his plate.
“I called in a favour with some friends.” He chuckled to himself, obviously picturing his friends fighting the Gotham rogues. Peter couldn’t help but join in, knowing the dangers the streets hold.
After breakfast, they moved to the living room, where Dick had taken it upon himself to ensure maximum entertainment.
“Alright, everyone,” he announced dramatically, clapping his hands together. “Welcome to the Wayne Manor Ultimate Obstacle Course!”
Peter looked around, taking in the madness. Dick and Steph had clearly been at this for hours the night before. The course wound through multiple rooms, starting with a pillow fort maze in the living room, where they had to crawl under low-hanging blankets without knocking them down. Then came a jumping challenge, where they had to leap from couch cushion to couch cushion without touching the floor. “floor lava,” Cass had declared. “Touch it, you die.”
The following section was pure chaos—a chair-climbing section that forced them to navigate a lineup of dining chairs, some stacked precariously.
And finally, the worst part: the rope maze that Cass had woven between two bookshelves in the hallway. It was a tangled web of string and bungee cords, and Peter had no idea how anyone was supposed to get through without looking like a complete idiot.
Damian, naturally, took the challenge very seriously.
“I will complete this course faster than the rest of you,” he declared, stretching like he was about to run a marathon.
“Man, relax,” Duke laughed. “It’s a game, not a death match.”
“Everything is a competition,” Damian shot back.
Jason smirked. “And you’re gonna lose.”
“Impossible.”
Steph, standing by with a stopwatch, waved them forward. “Alright, who’s going first?”
Tim stood from his chair, “I’ll go first!”
The entire family immediately spoke together, “NO!”
Dick grinned. “I volunteer—”
“No, I’ll go first,” Damian interrupted, stepping forward with the confidence of someone about to dominate.
Duke chuckled. “This is gonna be good.”
Steph counted down. “Three… two… one… GO!”
Damian launched himself forward like a ninja. He dove through the pillow fort with ridiculous efficiency, barely disturbing the blankets. Then, he leaped onto the couch cushions, moving so fast it almost seemed unfair.
“Wow…” Peter whispered as he watched.
He made it through the chair climb without hesitation, gripping the backs of the chairs like it was second nature. It looked like he was going to obliterate the course record—
Until Jason, with perfect timing, stuck out a foot as Damian landed from the last jump.
Damian’s foot caught, and in the blink of an eye—
CRASH.
He tumbled into the floor, right in front of the rope maze.
Jason threw his hands up. “Oops.”
Damian bolted upright, face red. “YOU—”
Duke was already dying laughing. “Oh, man, that was beautiful.”
“You cheated!”
Jason smirked. “No, no. You said everything was a competition. And I competed.”
“YOU TRIPPED ME.”
“Semantics.”
Damian lunged at him, and Jason took off running, cackling.
“We’re in the middle of a game!” Dick called after them, but it was no use. Damian was now out for blood.
“Well, that’s gonna take a while,” Steph said, amused. “Alright, who’s next?”
A few more people took their turns before Peter finally stepped forward, shaking out his shoulders.
“My turn.” He smiled, rolling his shoulders as he approached the start line.
“You sure, bug boy?” Steph asked, arms crossed.
Peter shrugged. “I’ve been doing stuff like this my whole life.”
Steph held up the stopwatch. “Alright, birthday boy—three, two, one—GO!”
Peter took off like a blur.
He dove headfirst into the pillow fort maze, twisting and shifting with inhuman precision. Where the others had slowed to squeeze through tight gaps, Peter barely seemed to touch the fabric. He zipped through so fast that the structure didn’t even wobble.
Next up: the couch cushions.
He landed on the first one without a sound. Where the others had wobbled and struggled for balance, Peter glided across them, moving as lightly as a feather. Maybe it was because he weighed far less than he should for a kid his age.
Then came the chair climb.
Peter scaled it effortlessly, stepping onto the backrests with perfect control. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t test for stability—he just moved.
In a matter of seconds, he reached the last chair and vaulted off it, flipping once midair before landing flawlessly.
Duke let out a low whistle. “Alright, I’ll admit. That was cool.”
Peter barely reacted—he was already locking onto the next challenge: Cass’s rope maze.
Cass tilted her head, watching closely. She had designed this to trip up even the best.
But Peter?
He flowed through it.
Not a single rope touched him. His joints bent in ways they shouldn’t, his thin limbs slipping through impossibly small gaps. It was eerie—his body seemed almost boneless, twisting like a professional contortionist.
These were skills he learned through two very different lives. One was spent swinging between skyscrapers, fighting bad guys, and pulling off acrobatic stunts, while the other was forged through relentless training in a lab.
He didn't even slow down when he reached the tightest squeeze near the end. Instead, he flipped upside down, hooked his legs over the last rope, and landed in a crouch on the other side in record time.
Silence.
“…No way,” Duke said, blinking.
Damian, who had just returned from attacking Jason, looked vaguely impressed. “Hmph.”
Peter grinned, breathing lightly as if he hadn’t just destroyed their obstacle course. “What’s my time?”
Steph checked the stopwatch, eyes widening. “Uh. Thirty-six seconds.”
Dick let out a low whistle. “Okay, yeah. That’s ridiculous.”
Bruce’s expression didn’t change much, but a gleam of pride was in his eyes. “Well done.”
Peter grinned wider. “A super time for a super kid.”
Steph chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, I think that settles it—birthday boy wins the course.”
After the obstacle course madness, they settled in front of the massive TV for something slightly less physically exhausting.
“Alright,” Jason said, tossing Peter a controller. “What’s it gonna be, birthday boy?”
Peter thought for a second before grinning. “Mario Kart.”
The reaction was immediate.
“Oh, hell yes,” Duke cheered.
“Prepare to be destroyed,” Steph said, cracking her knuckles.
“This dumb game again,” Damian muttered, but he still picked up a controller.
They chose their characters—Jason went with Bowser, because of course he did. Damian, after much internal debate, settled on Dry Bones. Peter picked Yoshi.
Cass weighed her options momentarily before picking Toad, “Toad.”
No one thought much of it.
The first few races started off relatively friendly, or as friendly as Mario Cart can be until Jason body-checked Dick’s kart off Rainbow Road.
“YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!” Dick shouted, watching his character plummet into the abyss.
Jason smirked. “That’s what you get for picking Peach.”
“She’s a perfectly valid choice!”
Then Cass, who had been quietly racing in third place the entire time, suddenly pulled ahead on the last lap and won by milliseconds.
Everyone stared at her.
Cass just sipped her drink.
The next race, they made a pact to stop her—only for her to dodge somehow three red shells, two blue shells, and Jason’s spiteful banana barrage to win again.
“…She’s not human,” Duke muttered.
“Tsk, It’s just luck…” Damian pouted angrily.
Cass just smiled.
Peter was dying laughing.
By the final race, things had devolved into absolute chaos. Peter was holding onto first place, but Jason was right behind him, throwing everything he had—until, at the last second, Damian of all people came out of nowhere and stole the victory.
Damian put down his controller smugly. “It’s not luck. It’s skill.”
Jason groaned. “I hate this family.”
As the afternoon stretches on, Alfred calls them to the dining room, where a proper birthday dinner is waiting—Peter’s favourite meal, prepared with care.
They eat together, sharing stories and teasing each other between bites. Bruce sits at the head of the table, watching the family banter with quiet contentment. Jason and Damian inevitably get into a minor food-related argument, Steph makes a terrible pun, and Dick insists on a birthday toast for Peter.
When dinner wraps up, Alfred clears the plates, and the lights dim slightly.
“Alright,” Dick announces, standing dramatically. “It’s cake time.” Tim slowly carried a massive cake into the room. Alfred had clearly outdone himself. The rich chocolate frosting and carefully piped decorations made it look straight out of a bakery.
Then the singing started.
Happy Birthday to you…
Peter sat still, staring at the glowing candles, the song's warmth surrounding him. The cake was placed in front of him.
Happy Birthday to you…
He blinked rapidly, his vision blurring.
Happy Birthday, dear Peter…
He tried to hold it back.
Happy Birthday to you!
The song ended, and Peter sucked in a sharp breath—then he was crying.
Not loud, not dramatic. Just quiet, overwhelmed, tears rolling down his cheeks as he tried to wipe them away.
“Peter?” Dick’s voice was gentle, full of concern.
Peter shook his head, sniffling. “I—I’m okay.”
Bruce was at his side in an instant, resting a steadying hand on his back. No one teased him, no one rushed him. They just waited, letting him have this moment.
Because for the first time in a long time, Peter had a real birthday. A real family. And the weight of it all was just too much.
After a few seconds, he let out a watery laugh and rubbed at his eyes.
“Okay,” he whispered, voice shaking but steady. “I’ll blow out the candles now.”
And surrounded by the people who cared for him, Peter made his wish.