Danny didn’t mean to become obsessed with the zoo. It just sort of happened after Sam pointed out how bad the conditions were, and then suddenly he was sneaking animals out at night for “field trips.”
The deer loved driving. The sharks loved turning the water red just enough to traumatize visitors. The monkeys were disturbingly good bartenders. The penguins discovered cinema, fashion, and the power of a coordinated trench-coat disguise.
Danny’s favorite part was hovering invisibly nearby, watching people stare at the animals in silence, desperately trying to figure out whether they were hallucinating or if Gotham had finally crossed some unseen line.
Somehow, this led to poker. Somehow, Danny won. The looks on their faces when he returned to collect his prize money made the whole thing worth it.
Wayne Manor was already too full of people when Alfred announced, calmly and without context, “Sir, there is a young man at the door insisting he is here to collect poker winnings.”
Every head in the room turned.
Bruce Wayne slowly set his glass down. “I’m sorry—what?”
Danny Fenton was ushered in a moment later, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, looking around like he’d wandered into a museum he absolutely could not afford.
“Hi,” he said. “Wow. Big family.”
Dick squinted at him. “Who the hell are you?”
“Danny. Fenton,” Danny replied, offering a small wave. “I was at the poker night.”
Jason scoffed. “We don’t invite teenagers to poker night.”
Tim leaned forward, eyes sharp. “And we definitely don’t invite strangers.”
Bruce held up a hand. “Enough. Explain.”
Danny nodded, relieved. “Right. So. Your dog owes me money.”
“Our dog?” Dick repeated.
“Ace doesn’t gamble,” Barbara said flatly.
Damian looked personally offended. “Father, why is this peasant accusing the Bat-Hound of degeneracy?”
Ace, lying on the rug, lifted his head at his name, blinked at the crowd, and went back to chewing his toy.
Danny winced. “Okay, wow. When everyone says it at once, it sounds fake.”
Bruce stepped forward. “Ace does not play poker.”
Danny pulled out a folded paper. “Cool. Counterpoint.”
He unfolded the IOU on the table.
Alfred’s handwriting was unmistakable.
Tim’s eyes widened. “That’s legit.”
Jason leaned over. “Holy shit, it is.”
“Why is my name on an IOU written to my dog?”
Alfred clasped his hands. “Because, sir, Ace was declared the winner.”
Dick broke it. “The dog won?”
“No,” Bruce said immediately.
Damian crossed his arms. “Impossible.”
Barbara frowned. “How would that even—”
Danny pointed weakly at him. “He was just… there.”
Tim stared at Danny. “You’re telling us Ace, who is currently attempting to eat his own leash, beat all of you at poker.”
Danny nodded. “Statistically unlikely. Emotionally devastating.”
Jason laughed. “I like this kid.”
Bruce glared. “No one taught the dog how to play.”
Danny raised both hands. “I didn’t teach him anything. I swear. He does not know poker.”
Damian leaned down and snapped his fingers. “Bat-Hound. Sit.”
Ace flopped over dramatically.
Damian sneered. “He does not possess the intellect required for gambling.”
Ace rolled back over and sneezed.
Barbara rubbed her temples. “Then how did he win?”
Danny hesitated. Every bat eye locked on him.
Tim narrowed his eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
Alfred cleared his throat. “Regardless of how it occurred, Master Bruce, a debt is a debt.”
Bruce exhaled slowly and went to retrieve an envelope. He slapped it onto the table.
Danny picked it up, peeked inside, and grinned. “Nice doing business with you all.”
Dick crossed his arms. “You still haven’t explained who you are.”
Danny backed toward the door. “Just a guy who was there.”
Jason called after him, “Come back for poker night!”
Danny slipped out, laughter echoing faintly down the hall.
The room sat in stunned silence.
Finally, Tim said, “We should probably test the dog.”
Bruce looked down at Ace, who was chewing happily.
“…Lock up the cards,” Bruce said.
Ace wagged his tail, baffled and innocent.
Bruce Wayne had learned, over many years, to trust his instincts. The instant his dog leaned back in his chair—his chair—one paw draped casually over a stack of poker chips, Bruce knew something was wrong.
Ace’s ears were relaxed. His breathing was steady. His eyes were locked on Bruce’s with unnerving confidence.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Alfred.”
Alfred stood at the head of the table, bell in hand, looking the picture of dignified impartiality. “Yes, sir?”
Alfred nodded. “Exceedingly well.”
Silence crashed over the room.
Jason leaned forward. “No. No way.”
Tim stared at Ace. “…He knows poker.”
Ace flicked one card onto the table with his paw.
Damian stood abruptly. “Father, the Bat-Hound has deceived us.”
Ace wagged his tail once. Innocent. Convincing.
Bruce’s voice dropped. “How long.”
Alfred rang the bell. “…Several hands, sir.”
That was when the other animals froze.
The cat stopped mid-chip-swipe. The falcon stiffened on its perch. The horse at the far end of the table slowly withdrew its hoof from the pot.
Danny Fenton, leaning against the wall, mouthed, oh no.
Bruce stood. The chair scraped loudly.
The cat bolted under the table, chips scattering everywhere. The falcon launched upward, feathers everywhere. One of the horses kicked open a side door with surprising finesse.
Danny hissed, “Abort! ABORT!”
Ace jumped from the chair, chips still clutched in his mouth, and sprinted after the others.
Jason shouted, “THE DOG IS MAKING A BREAK FOR IT!”
Dick ran for the exits. “WHY DOES THE DEER KNOW WHERE THE EMERGENCY DOORS ARE?”
Tim was already calculating escape vectors. “They practiced this.”
Damian drew his sword. “They planned treason.”
Alfred rang the bell again, calmly. “Orderly retreat, please.”
Ace skidded across the floor, slammed into Danny’s legs, and looked up at him with wide, guilty eyes.
Danny scooped him up without thinking. “Buddy, I love you, but you’re blowing my cover.”
Around them, animals fled in every direction—penguins sliding across marble floors, monkeys swinging from chandeliers, a horse galloping majestically through the west wing.
Bruce stared at the scene: his manor in shambles, his family shouting, his dog exposed as a gambling mastermind.
“…How,” Bruce said quietly, “did my dog learn to bluff.”
Danny smiled weakly. “Natural talent?”
Bruce exhaled. “Everyone out.”
Alfred watched the retreat with approval. “Well executed, considering the circumstances.”
Danny phased backward toward a shattered window, still holding Ace.
Bruce snapped, “Put the dog down.”
Danny gently set Ace on the floor.
Bruce pointed at him. “You’re grounded.”
The last of the animals vanished into the night.
Dick looked around. “So.”
Jason snorted. “Poker night’s canceled forever, right?”
Bruce stared at the door Ace had fled through moments ago.
