The LEGO Batman Movie Junior Novel

by Jeanette Lane

“Sorry,” Batman said again. “I was just lost in thought, and as you know, when I’m in there, I’m in deep.”

  “Were you looking at the family pictures again?”

  “At the what?” Batman asked, trying to cover his embarrassment. He lifted his stare from the floor to the wall of photographs in front of him. “At the old family … oh yes. I see what you mean. Look at that. The old gang.”

  It was a full-on gallery. There were photos taken at exotic locations on expensive vacations with palm trees, turquoise waters, marble fountains. There were photos on horseback and skydiving. There were photos of the family in front of Wayne Manor, dwarfed by its massive size. But Batman’s gaze did not linger on any of these. He couldn’t take his eyes off a close-up photograph of his younger self with his parents: father, mother, and son. They were smiling, happy to be together. Alfred had taken that one.

  “Yeah,” Batman said. “Uh, no, I wasn’t.”

  “I see,” said Alfred, his deep voice full of understanding. “Sir, if you don’t mind my saying, I’m a little concerned. I’ve seen you have similar phases in the past. Do you want to talk about what you’re feeling right now?”

  Batman scowled. “I don’t talk about feelings, Alfred. I don’t have any. I’ve never seen one. I’m a night-stalking, crime-fighting vigilante and a heavy-metal rapping machine. I don’t feel anything emotionally except for rage. 24/7, 365 days a year, at a million percent. And if you think that there’s something behind that, then you’re crazy. Good night, Alfred.”

  Alfred was not crazy. The devoted butler knew that Bruce Wayne’s sorrow from the loss of his parents had driven him to become Batman. He knew that Bruce had not had a day of peace since his parents had died.

  Alfred was worried about Bruce. He was worried that Bruce might be the crazy one, because Bruce had just said “good night,” even though the sun was rising above the towers at the top of Wayne Manor.

  “But, sir, it’s morning,” Alfred pointed out. He opened the heavy drapes that covered the parlor’s panoramic windows.

  “Master Bruce, you live on an island, figuratively and literally,” Alfred said.

  “Yeah, I love it.”

  Alfred sighed. “You can’t spend the rest of your life alone, dressed in black, listening to angry music, and staying up all night,” he insisted.

  “Yes, I can. ’Cuz I’m Batman.”

  “But don’t you think it’s time you finally faced … your greatest fear?” Alfred asked.

  “Snakes?” suggested Batman.

  “No.”

  “Clowns?” Batman guessed again.

  “No.”

  “Snake clowns?” Batman asked with a shudder.

  “Bruce, listen,” Alfred said seriously. “Your greatest fear is … being part of a family again.”

  Bruce/Batman considered what Alfred had said. He looked at the family picture on the wall. The pain was almost too much for him to take.

  “Nope,” Batman said. “My greatest fear is snake clowns because you put that idea in my head.”

  “Sir, this is my fault,” Alfred said sadly. “I should’ve done a better job raising you.”

  Desperate for a distraction, Batman began his exercise routine. “Time for push-ups! One … two … we’re going to a thousand! Three … four …”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir,” said Alfred.

  “It is possible,” insisted Batman. “I’m already at twenty.”

  “You’re scheduled to go to Jim Gordon’s retirement party,” his butler replied, changing the subject.

  “What, no! I don’t wanna do that.” Bruce pouted, his lower lip sticking way out.

  “You’re going to have a great time,” Alfred said coaxingly.

  “No, no, no!” Bruce cried.

  “Jim Gordon will really appreciate it.” Alfred continued with his reasonable line of thinking.

  “No, no, no!” Bruce continued with his unreasonable refusal.

  “You’ll get to meet the new commissioner,” Alfred pointed out, his voice bright.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Bruce exploded into a full-on temper tantrum that would have been impressive even for a three-year-old. He kicked and screamed and pounded the ground with his full-grown fists. He even rolled up and down the stairs. The parlor walls trembled.

  Alfred shook his head. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but he was going to have to do it.

  “And before you go, we can do your favorite thing,” he suggested calmly.

  Gasp! Sniff, sniff. Bruce looked up at Alfred with tear-stained eyes.

  “Tuxedo dress-up party?!” he asked hopefully.

  When Alfred nodded, Bruce sat up eagerly.

  He would go to the party like a big boy.

  As Alfred drove Bruce Wayne’s limousine to the commissioner’s going-away party, he glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sir, are you forgetting something?”

  “Nope,” Batman replied from the backseat. He was dressed in his favorite tuxedo, and he was preening a little in the mirror.

  “Your cowl, sir?” Alfred prompted.

  “My what now?” Batman replied.

  “Your … armored face disguise, sir,” he said. “It’s still on.”

  “Aw, come on,” said Bruce. “Can’t I just go as Batman?”

  “But everyone is expecting to see Bruce Wayne,” Alfred reminded him.

  “Nobody wants to see Bruce Wayne!” Batman protested. “Here are his likes: crying like a baby, talking about feelings, being a dumb robot, and doing boring stuff. Batman, on the other hand, is a crime fighter with the heart of a tiger and the skin of a bat!”

  Alfred shot Batman his sternest look. “Bruce …”

  “Fine,” Batman replied, pulling off his mask.

  Bruce Wayne looked tired and sad. He didn’t look like the suave, superstar businessman who was on the cover of all those magazines. In the backseat of the limo, he looked human.

  “Happy now?” Bruce asked Alfred.

  “Indubitably.”

  “Good,” Bruce responded. “Must be nice to be happy.” Then he turned his attention to the news. It was handy to have a TV built into the limo.

  But when he realized the reporter was doing a feature on a different Super Hero, Superman, Bruce quickly looked away.

  All the way across town, the Joker was watching the same television station. He rolled his eyes when he saw Superman on the screen. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Batman would not acknowledge the depth of their relationship, now the news had to fuss over the Super Hero Batman claimed was his greatest enemy.

  “They’re really more like rivals,” the Joker mumbled to himself. Still, he paid attention to the interview.

  Reporter Pipa Expositionay was standing next to a very tall man with a very square jaw and wavy dark hair. “Tonight, on Metropolis Corner, we have our favorite star—Superman.”

  “Hi, Gotham City,” chirped Superman with a hearty wave.

  “Superman,” Pipa began, “tell me how you feel about the recent banishment of your archenemy to the Phantom Zone.”

  Superman rubbed his chin and leaned in to the microphone. “Well, it’s complicated, Pipa. When you’re Superman, you battle a lot of villains, but none of them are as special as my super-villain.”

  “See?” the Joker exclaimed. “Superman gets it! Why can’t Batman?”

  He couldn’t believe how clearly Superman had just illustrated his point, but no one else seemed to care. The Rogues weren’t even paying attention. They were in the other room, playing cards and goofing off.

  Behind the Joker, Bane had just built a CD rack out of toothpicks. “Check it out, guys! I built a CD rack!” he cried proudly.

  A moment later, the rack fell apart … and Bane strained his back bending over to pick up the pieces. “My back,” he groaned.

  The Joker sighed. “How am I supposed to get Batman’s respect when I’m working with these losers?” he wondered despairingly.

  “You know, Mr.
J, sometimes the best way to get something you really, really want is to act like you don’t want it at all,” said Harley Quinn. She knew what she was talking about. She had a degree in psychiatry.

  Meanwhile, Superman’s interview continued. “Yeah, Pipa,” Superman explained. “I couldn’t put him in just a regular prison. He had to go somewhere special—the Phantom Zone.”

  “The Phantom Zone, of course, is a notorious space jail that houses every hero’s biggest villain,” Pipa Expositionay explained.

  “You know it,” agreed Superman. “They’ve got all the sickest baddies up there.”

  Sitting in his hideout, the Joker was hatching a new plan. “Hmmm, I’m starting to get an idea,” he said thoughtfully.

  A moment later, he bolted upright. “Gentlemen and ladies, I’m going to show Batman that it’s not over between us. In fact, we’ve only just begun!”

  The Joker rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t wait to start on his new scheme.

  When the limo pulled up to the party, Bruce Wayne plastered a dashing smile onto his face. It was showtime, whether he liked it or not.

  The flashes from the cameras were blinding. Reporters were everywhere, yelling questions about his clothes and his recent dates. Bruce wished he were at home eating Lobster Thermidor. Computer never asked him such idiotic questions.

  Bruce braced himself. “Okay, shutterbugs, look alive,” he declared, pointing at the various cameras. “I’m going to give you three poses. Ready? Kissy face.” He pursed his lips for five seconds. “Oops, I did it again.” He made a shocked expression for the count of five. “And the Bad Boy. Whatcha gonna do?” His last pose looked pretty normal, except he squinted his eyes. “I’m out of here, guys. Thank you.”

  Bruce strode into the party, greeting various attendees along the way.

  “Bruce, any advice for the new commissioner?” a partygoer asked him.

  “As long as he can turn on the Bat-Signal, he’ll be fine,” Bruce answered with a smirk. After all, no one—except Alfred—knew that he was secretly Batman. But everyone knew that Batman had been Commissioner Jim Gordon’s best ally in defeating crime on the streets of Gotham City.

  The gala event was filled with people who admired Bruce Wayne, and Bruce did his best to be the cool, clever, macho man that the people of Gotham City expected him to be.

  “Bruce,” said one of the state’s senators, approaching him. “I don’t know how you did it.”

  “You can’t prove it, you didn’t do it,” Bruce replied with a charming smile.

  “Mr. Wayne, so great to see you! Come join us!” said the prime minister of a very important country, who just happened to be standing nearby.

  With all the excitement, Bruce didn’t even notice that there was a choir there singing. He certainly didn’t realize that the choir was an orphan choir. And he especially didn’t realize that the kid who had been sitting on the sign in the orphanage yard—the one who had been the most excited to spot Batman—was one of the orphans in the choir. That kid, Dick Grayson, spotted Bruce Wayne right away.

  “No way!” Dick said. “It’s Bruce Wayne! He’s the greatest orphan of all time!”

  As soon as the song was over, Dick ran toward Bruce. “Mr. Wayne!” he called out, weaving his way through the crowd.

  Bruce nodded at the eager kid. “You want a picture?” he asked in his cheery celebrity voice.

  “That would be swell,” replied Dick.

  “Here we go,” he announced, whipping out a phone and taking a selfie—of just himself. He flashed Dick a smile. “Party face. Boom! Keep it,” he said, tossing Dick the phone.

  “Whoa! Thanks, Mr. Wayne,” Dick said, clutching the phone to his chest.

  “Call me Bruce, champ.”

  “I’m just so jazzed to meet you, sir,” said Dick.

  “I’m sorry, did you say ‘jazzed’?” Bruce asked incredulously.

  “Yes! My name’s Richard Grayson,” the orphan introduced himself, “but all the kids at the orphanage call me Dick.”

  He waited patiently as a stream of gala attendants approached Bruce Wayne, wanting to meet him.

  “So, I had a question for you, sir,” Dick said when he got the chance.

  “Okay, hit me with it,” Bruce Wayne replied, but he wasn’t really paying attention to Dick. He was waving at a member of the Gotham City Council across the room.

  “As the most successful orphan ever—”

  “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  “Do you have any advice on how to get adopted?” Dick asked.

  “Oh yeah,” Bruce replied again, but he still wasn’t really paying attention.

  “You do?”

  Bruce was distracted by someone asking for an autograph, so Dick tried a different approach. “Okay, for example, is teeth whitener a good idea?”

  “Yes, here you go, pal,” Bruce said, handing over an autograph to a charming woman with silver hair.

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Looking good, Bruce,” someone called from the crowd.

  “How about eyeliner or a Cajun accent?” Dick asked.

  “Try both,” answered Bruce.

  “Look! It’s the new commissioner!” someone yelled. At that moment, there was a huge commotion. There was a young woman at the center of a crowd. She was standing right next to Jim Gordon, the retiring police commissioner. Bruce wanted to know who she was.

  “Mr. Wayne? Should I get experimental surgery to make my eyes larger and more vulnerable looking?” Dick asked, even though it was clear that Bruce was no longer paying attention.

  “Do that,” Bruce mumbled.

  “Wow. Fascinating. Um, Mr. Wayne, are you currently in the market to adopt a child?” Dick asked hopefully.

  “Yeah,” Bruce Wayne responded without thinking. All his thoughts were on the woman walking in with Commissioner Gordon.

  “Really?” Dick prompted.

  “Oh yeah,” Bruce said, but he had no idea what he was saying.

  “Are you looking for more of a base-model orphan, or one that has upgraded features, like talent in cooking or driftwood art?” Dick kept going.

  “Yep,” was Bruce’s response.

  “Deep-sea welding?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How about an orphan who can do street magic?”

  “All of it sounds great.”

  “Really?” Dick tried to confirm. “Because all of it sounds like me. Mr. Wayne, do you think you’d be interested in adopting me as your future orphan son?”

  “Definitely.”

  “You mean that, Mr. Wayne?”

  “A million percent.” But a million percent of Bruce Wayne’s attention was on Commissioner Jim Gordon and the woman he was escorting, or who was escorting him.

  “This is great!” Dick yelled, doing a fist pump. “Because all I want is to get adopted so I can finally stop being …”

  Dick looked up and realized that Bruce Wayne was gone.

  “… alone.”

  It was the big moment at the gala. Everyone’s attention was on the stage at the far end of the elegant ballroom. There was a podium and an oversize screen behind it. The mayor was speaking into the microphone. “We’ve gathered here tonight to mark the retirement of Jim Gordon,” she announced, patting the commissioner on the shoulder.

  “Good-bye!” former Commissioner Gordon said to the crowd, leaning in to the microphone.

  “And wish him well in his South African safari expedition,” the mayor added with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Commissioner Gordon added.

  “And now, to introduce you to his exciting, new replacement,” the mayor said, motioning to the gigantic screen behind her. “Everyone, meet your new commissioner. Enjoy this special video we prepared for you!”

  The screen lit up behind the mayor, and fireworks exploded around the face of a young woman—the same young woman who had walked into the gala with the former commissioner, Jim Gordon.

  “M
eet Barbara Gordon! The new commissioner of Gotham City! She was top of her class at Harvard for Police,” a booming voice narrated. The video continued to show the new commissioner, Barbara Gordon, in many impressive situations: shining in her police classes, heading up SWAT team strikes, working with other top police people to get things done.

  The video shared many highlights of Barbara Gordon’s early career. “We’re going to take down these perps together,” the on-screen Barbara Gordon declared.

  “Meet Barbara Gordon, the new commissioner of Gotham City!” the video narrator concluded.

  The audience clapped loudly as Barbara Gordon approached the stage.

  “Congratulations, darling,” her dad said, smiling at her proudly.

  “Thanks, Dad,” said Barbara.

  “Here she is, everyone,” said the mayor.

  Barbara strode across the stage and up to the podium. “Thank you! Thanks!” Barbara said into the microphone. “Dad, you’ve always done a great job protecting Gotham City.”

  “Flip!” said her dad, flipping the Bat-Signal switch.

  “Along with Batman, of course,” Barbara said.

  From the audience, Bruce Wayne applauded wildly. “Woo! Let’s hear it for Batman!”

  “Who I wish were here right now,” Barbara went on.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s listening … heh heh,” said Bruce, winking.

  “Because if he were, I think Batman would agree that Gotham City would never just accept the status quo.”

  “Oh, we hate the status quo,” Bruce agreed.

  “Yeah, we’re sick of it!” agreed another gala attendee.

  Barbara took a deep breath. “I’d like to ask all of you a question: Are you fed up with crime?”

  The audience’s answer was clear: Yes. They were all fed up with crime.

  “We’re all tired of crime,” Bruce agreed. “You bet.”

  “Are you fed up with the endless stream of villains causing havoc on our streets?” Barbara questioned.

  The audience was fed up with the villains! They all agreed, as did Bruce Wayne.

  “That shouldn’t even be a question,” he answered.

  “Great,” the new commissioner continued. “Then let’s talk about real improvements that will end the cycle of crime.”