Chapter Text
It’s not long after Bruce’s birthday when they find out. The winds of Gotham’s winter are just beginning to warm, and the snow is beginning to melt under her feet as she walks to the graveyard on the grounds of Wayne Manor.
Once a month, Sarah Grayson visits the grave of her boyfriend.
Once a month, she leaves him flowers because he loved them. Sunflowers reminded him of her, and so Jason loved them.
This time though… this time is different. This time is different because when Sarah comes to visit the grave of Jason Peter Todd, there’s nothing left but an empty hole in the ground and splinters of wood at the edges of where they’d buried him.
Words fail her. It’s just the beginning of a new spring, another spring, one that she would be spending without him. Words fail her because this is Jason’s grave. The place where their family laid him to rest. The place where she’d come to mourn him - to scream until her throat was raw and pound at the fresh mound of dirt that hid his body from her - for well over six months.
Bruce never knew she was there, and neither did Dick. They didn’t need to. Grieving the loss of Jason Todd’s unconditional, devoted love was something she needed to do on her own.
Alone. Just like she is today.
Something dark and angry settles itself in her gut the longer she stares at it. Someone dared to sneak into their home and defile his grave, his memory, everything he ever was. That was the one thing that Sarah had sworn to protect since the day Bruce had come home and told her he was gone.
Even without him here, Sarah refused to let anyone try to ruin the memory of Jason Todd.
She ran her fingers over the grass at her feet and peered down into the coffin. That was not the original one. She would know, Sarah had helped Bruce pick it.
Further away, at the tip of his gravestone, there was dried blood smeared across his name. She used the water bottle in her coat to clean it off. The blood is on her fingers more than the stone by the time Sarah has finished, but she doesn’t particularly care.
Was it the Joker? Was this his version of a sick joke?
“Sarah?”
Sarah turned to peer over her shoulder at Tim, who must have noticed the lack of her presence in the Manor - they spent every morning together before Tim went to school having breakfast - and had followed her out here to see what she was doing.
With her back turned to her little brother, Sarah replied, “You don’t need to be out here, Tim.”
Tim, however, was more interested in Jason’s grave. “What happened here?” He asked, carefully sidestepping her to begin walking around Jason’s grave. “Isn’t this Jason’s grave?”
“Yes.”
“This wasn’t recent.”
Her head shot up as he knelt to inspect the damage to the area on either side of the hole. “What do you mean?” Sarah replied.
“Look at the gouges in the dirt.” Tim pointed downward and into the hole. “Whoever placed this coffin here replaced the old one. This isn't the original coffin. Which would mean that, if I'm correct, Jason's body is not in it."
Leave it to the fourteen-year-old to have genius intellect.
“But-But this was Jason-“
It didn’t make any sense. Jason was dead.
Breathe, Sarah. You have to remember to breathe. Digging her fingers into her hair, Sarah slowly sunk deeper into the grass until her forehead was tucked between her knees and she was tugging tightly on her hair just to be able to feel something that would ground her to reality. It didn’t work. Her chest was still painfully constricted and her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it in the back of her skull.
Breathe. You have to remember to breathe, Sar.
Tim was not a tactile person. He’d gradually learned to accept it from people in the family since coming to the Manor and being adopted by Bruce, but he still tended to receive hugs instead of giving them.
So when her little brother wound himself around her back willingly, that terrible ache that had settled itself deep inside of her broke, and she wept.
Sarah gripped her little brother’s hands and cried until her eyes hurt and her hands stopped shaking. Her heart rate slowed, her breathing evened, and she sat for those precious few minutes to register the weight of Tim’s body against her back and how overwhelmingly warm he was.
“Tim?”
“Mmm.”
“Thanks, bud.”
He knew she was embarrassed, so he simply nodded. They didn't speak about it again.
***
It’s been a long and ongoing process, but after nearly a month, Bruce finally has the papers in his hand and a very important question to ask his two eldest children. That’s what prompts him to call Sarah and Dick after meeting with the Wayne Enterprises Board that afternoon. There was a little Italian bistro around the corner from Wayne Tower that they’d gone to a lot when they were kids - it was one of the only times Bruce could get Alfred out of the house to join them for dinner was the restaurant Bruce chose.
He heard them coming before he saw them. Clara called out something to the pair, laughing at their gleeful response as they entered his office with Sarah sitting atop Dick’s shoulders.
“Are you two showing off?” He tutted playfully, raising a brow as Dick peered up at Sarah and allowed her to brace her hands against his own so she could stand up and easily backflip onto the floor. “Ah, okay. That would be a yes.”
‘’All of your staff knows who we are, B,” Dick replied with a grin. “And we’re not getting any younger. Might as well show off while I have the opportunity to do so.”
“That’s right. Old Man Dick over here is starting to get creaky bones.” Sarah joked. His eldest daughter smoothed her hands over her braided hair and came to stand beside her brother. “That, however, is beside the point. You’ve never called us here during a work day. Is there something we need to know?”
“I have a question for the both of you that I’d like to discuss over lunch.”
Dick whistled. “Oh boy, we’re in trouble,” He sang, linking his arm through his sister’s as Bruce stood to his feet and grabbed his coat. “But where are we going? Please tell me it’s that little Italian place-“
“That would be correct.”
“Finally,” Sarah groaned. “Some good freaking food!”
Bruce smiled quietly to himself and listened to his two eldest children’s eldest jabber as they exited Wayne Tower and continued down the sidewalk towards the Italian place. Part of him was nervous to ask this question too, especially with Dick here, but Sarah’s calm and assuring presence would undoubtedly make this much easier.
“Hello, Mr. Wayne!” Bruce lifted his head to greet Laura, one of the only hostesses who had managed to keep her job at this Gotham establishment for this long, as they entered the lobby. “It’s so nice to see the three of you again! I’m assuming you’d like the same table?”
“That’s correct. Thank you, Laura.”
Laura sat them down in the corner booth pointed toward the doors and left to return with their drinks: Three Italian cream sodas. Dick slid into the booth behind Sarah, who immediately tucked her feet beneath her and propped her chin on her hands as she looked at her father.
“Our favorite childhood restaurant, our favorite drinks. Taking time out of your day to take us to lunch…” Sarah faltered. “Is someone dead?”
“Sarah, you can’t just ask if someone is dead-‘’
“What else am I supposed to assume?!”
Bruce laughed quietly and steepled his fingers against his mouth with a shake of his head. “No, Sarah,” He replied quietly. “Is it such a crime for me to want to spend time with my children?”
Dick and Sarah eyed one another warily before turning their gaze back to Bruce. “You usually don’t have the time, B,” Dick said carefully. “I’m assuming this is important.”
Bruce nodded. “It is,” He reached into his coat and produced a manilla envelope before laying it on the table just as Laura left them their drinks. The trio relayed their usual orders before turning their attention back to one another. “I’ve had this for the last month or so after my lawyer finished finalizing the preparations, but this is something I should’ve done a long time ago.”
Sarah’s breath caught as Bruce removed the papers. They were legal adoption papers.
Adoption papers. He wants to adopt us.
“Are these-“ Sarah rifled through the papers carefully. “Adoption papers?”
“I know there’s a lot of wrongs I’ve committed against you both, and this isn’t something I’m doing to try to gloss over that. I have to atone. I will always have to atone because there will always be points as your father where I will fail you. Both of you.” Dick squeezed his sister’s hand under the table. He seemed far too interested in the condensation traveling its path down the neck of his soda bottle. “I can’t promise you I won’t screw up, because I will, but you two have and were always my children. Not my wards. If you want to… I want to give you the Wayne name. You deserve it.”
Tim already had it, and Jason had too, but the Grayson kids had never been asked. They were just Bruce’s wards.
Not anymore.
Sarah seemed at a loss for words. “I’m not speaking for Dick, obviously, but...” She swallowed the knot in her throat. “I’m kind of at a loss for words, Bruce. We didn’t think this was something you’d ever do.”
“And I think there’s still a lot the two of us are going to have to work through before we’re good,” Dick interjected, still uneasily wringing his hands in his lap. Sarah took his right hand and curled his fingers around the thread bracelet she’d made for him as a child. “But we’re honored. Really.”
Sarah laid a tentative hand on top of Bruce’s. He knew she hadn’t been feeling like herself since she and Tim had found out about Jason’s grave, but the unprecedented touch was sorely needed to ease his nerves.
“I’d love to be a Grayson-Wayne, B.”
Bruce has Dick and Sarah sign their legal names on the papers before slipping them back into the envelope and his coat. The rest of their afternoon lunch was filled with light-hearted chatter from Dick as he caught Sarah up on what his week had brought him, and Sarah confessed that she’d been spending a lot of time at the museum where her art exhibit was so she could finalize which paintings would stay and which ones would go.
He didn’t learn until later that there were six: Dick, Sarah, Tim, Bruce, the family painting he’d gotten for his birthday, and Jason.
Jason was dead center.
***
It’s a change that is long coming. One she should’ve done a while ago, given that her suit had only been replaced once as she’d grown. Lucius Fox is expectantly waiting whenever his communications ring from the Bat Computer — but it’s not Batman waiting on the other side. He looks right into the face of Spectral and pauses to consider why she’d be calling him.
“Good evening, Lucius.” Sarah mused, laughing as their technical expert furrowed his brow. “I assume you weren’t quite expecting to see me?”
“With all due respect, Miss Grayson,” Lucius replied. “You’ve never called me through the Bat Computer. Is there something you need that requires my assistance?”
“I’m sending you through sketches of a redesign for my armor,” She said. Lucius paused to turn to his other monitor as rough sketches of a new set of armor appeared: Black and orange, reinforced Kevlar with an amber-colored bird stretched across the chest. “I’m looking to lean away from Spectral and into something that fits me a little bit more.”
“I always thought the lavender and black was quite appealing.’’
“That was built for someone else, and I’m not her anymore,” Sarah shot back, which only made Lucius raise a questioning brow. It wasn’t in character for her to snap at people. He wasn’t even sure he’d seen her properly angry. “Orange and black. The new code name is Phoenix.’’
Phoenix: Renewal and Rebirth.
She wasn’t just Sarah Grayson anymore. She was Sarah Grayson-Wayne.
Lucius smiled and nodded. “I’ll get on that right away, Miss Grayson.” He said. “Is there anything else?”
Sarah pursed her lips. “Yeah. Can you make an engraving on the breastplate? It doesn’t need to be flashy. Just three letters.” Lucius looked up at her expectantly and waited with the pen poised in his fingers. “JPT.”
Because this new armor, this new her, would still have one purpose: Carrying on very well knowing that she would not let anyone else defile Jason’s memory. No person left in this god-forsaken city would get to taint him with their words, their actions, their sick idea of a joke that was his still-opened grave.
Soon, she wouldn’t be setting foot back in the Wayne Manor graveyard.
“Understood. I will see you later, Miss Grayson.”
“Thank you, Lucius.”
Had it not been for the shring! Of Tim’s newly acquired bo-staff connecting behind her, Sarah would’ve never noticed that her baby brother had come down into the Cave for their weekly sparring session. “Off doing sneaky stuff again?” He asked, tilting his head in confusion as Sarah cut the power to the Bat Computer and turned to grab her escrima sticks from the armory. “That’s not suspicious at all, Sarah.”
“Are you going to make any more snide comments, Timberlina?” She shot back, laughing as his eyes went wide. “Let me guess. Is my hair too curly? Or my clothes are too wrinkled?”
“You look like you need ten cups of coffee and about a week’s worth of sleep.”
Sarah snorted and readied herself across the mat from Tim, holding her escrima sticks out in front of her as they activated with an orange shock. “You’re one to talk, Mr. I Like To Sleep At My Desk And Will Have A Bad Neck By The Time I’m Twenty.”
Tim guffawed and lunged across the mat, bo-staff colliding with escrima as they moved fluidly across the training mats. Bruce had confessed to her and Dick over lunch that Tim had initially had a difficult time with the grueling physical training he’d started with when he’d taken the title of Robin. There had been several unintentional broken bones and too many nights where Tim had locked himself in his room to sulk over his failure.
And then Dick and Sarah had gotten involved with his training, and Tim had immediately taken to the bo-staff as soon as the Grayson siblings had suggested it.
Which, in hindsight, meant she should’ve seen his proficiency coming.
“Sleeping at my desk is-“ Tim grunted as he swept under Sarah’s attack to his skull, parrying her movement with two sharp movements of his staff that had one of her escrima sticks flying across the room. “Not my ticket into being old!”
Bruce smiled as he leaned against the railing and watched his kids spar across the mats. Sarah’s movements as an acrobat had always made her graceful and light on her feet, which was challenging given that Tim was small and also light on his feet.
It was remarkable how quickly he’d improved in his training once Bruce was not his primary trainer. He knew he was difficult on his kids, but that austere manner was only in place to ensure they were able to keep themselves safe.
"He's good."
"He's not just good," Dick remarked as he joined Bruce by the elevator. "They're better than we'll ever be."
Bruce's lips parted as he turned back to look at his kids. Even Dick could tell the look of adoration in the eyes of a father. Dick was even surprised that Bruce laughed when Tim victoriously disarmed Sarah and pinned her onto the mat.
"Again!" Sarah yelled as she snatched her escrima sticks up, a fierce look of determination pressed into her expression as she readied herself again. "I will not lose to my shrimp of a little brother!"
Yeah. They're better than we'll ever be.