A/N: This is a crosspost from AO3, where I post under the same name.

Long time no see. It took me three attempts to get this out and I'll probably only post one or two more for Whumptober but I've always wanted to participate, so now's the time :) Blanket warning that I know nothing about how multi-billion dollar companies are run. Enjoy your Tim whump with a side of comfort, as usual!

Title is from DEADALIVE by Jaguar Jonze.

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT…

taunting | insults | "Who did this to you?"

Tim didn't mind working for W.E., though it could easily become a stressful nightmare when things started to get hectic. After the attempted takeover from Ra's, things had quickly settled back to normal, only with Tim at the helm, and not Bruce. Ever since he'd brought Bruce back from his jaunt through time, though, Tim had been waiting patiently for Bruce to take back the reigns. Bruce seemed happy whenever Tim mentioned continuing to work for Wayne Enterprises, just on his favoured outreach programs, not the executive suite, so hopefully it was only a matter of time before Bruce was once again the CEO, and Tim would be free to do what he wanted.

And hopefully, Reynolds would finally leave him alone.

Simply put, Allen Reynolds gave Tim the creeps. The department head for accounting had no distinctive features and seemed mild-mannered to the core, but there was something about the way he acted around Tim that sent shivers running down his spine.

Tim had gotten used to being disrespected while he was the CEO, since half the board thought he was too young to do anything of worth, and many of the higher-ups in the various departments grimaced endlessly over the nepotism, but that was simple to deal with; they disliked Tim, and as long as he did his job well, they couldn't complain.

Reynolds, though, there was nothing simple about dealing with him.

It started when Tim was taking his lunch in the common break room, waiting for the espresso machine to finish making his coffee. Reynolds came up to the counter, and gave Tim a half smile.

"Aren't you too young to be drinking that?" he asked with a half smile.

That rankled, but Tim tamped down his annoyance and gave him a grin. "Can't afford to be falling asleep on the job when the days run long," he said, shrugging carelessly.

Reynolds hummed in response as Tim stirred in a spoon of sugar and some creamer into his coffee, and made no move to use the espresso machine himself.

Tim glanced at him. "Ah, I can move over if you want to make your own," he said, and made to shuffle to the side.

Reynolds smiled again and shook his head. "I'm good," he said.

Tim waited for him to speak, or move away, but the silence stretched onwards, and Reynolds kept his eyes on Tim the entire time. A prickle of unease ran through Tim's body as he realised how close the man was standing. Tim wasn't even that short, really, but something about Reynolds' posture made it feel like he was looming. Was he being hazed?

Tim's nerves ran out. He picked up the mug and nodded at Reynolds. "Well, I'd better get back to my work, so—" he started, inching way from the counter.

"Ah," said Reynolds, "One moment."

Tim froze as Reynolds reached around him, his arm brushing against the back of Tim's suit jacket, the action trapping Tim against the bench.

Tim's alarm was drowned out in a rush of anger at the closeness; he was the CEO, for God's sake, and had opened his mouth to say something when Reynolds pulled back with the carton of creamer in his hand.

"You forgot this," said Reynolds. "You shouldn't leave it out of the fridge."

Tim bit down on his annoyance and tried to calm his speeding heart. That brand of creamer was fine on the shelf, and none of the other employees found issue with it, but it wasn't worth pointing it out—Tim couldn't afford to upset the department head by flaring up over some— some botched hazing ritual.

Tim let out a bashful laugh. "I guess I forgot, whoops. I can put it back if you want," he said, but Reynolds was already shaking his head.

"It's not an issue. I'll put it back. You just go back to work," he said, and patted Tim's shoulder on the way to the fridge.

Tim had gone rigid at the touch, and had to force himself to relax. That was— crazy presumptuous, right? There wasn't anything wrong with what Reynolds had said, but— Tim was left feeling incredibly off-kilter.

He shook his head and made his way back to his office.

"Hey Tam," Tim said, "What do you know about Allen Reynolds?"

Tim was meant to be pouring over a massive sheaf of documents but his eyes had started to go bleary from reading so much jargon. He hadn't seen Reynolds since he was approached in the break room, and he'd mostly convinced himself it was nothing, but he still hadn't been able to put it entirely out of mind.

Tam stretched, letting out a groan as her back let out a pop. "Not much, really. He's been here since before I started, he shows up to report on time, and not much else," she said, spinning in her chair.

"Wait," she said, squinting at Tim. "He's not bothering you like the others, is he? You were meant to tell me if any of them were giving you trouble!" she scolded.

Tim waved away her concerns. "No, nothing like that, I swear. I just realised I hadn't spoken to him as much as the other department heads," Tim said, somewhat guiltily. The second half was true, at least.

Tam settled back down with a pout. "If you say so. But you have to let me know if any of them try anything, okay? This workplace bullying thing is like, so immature," she said with a frown.

Tim shrugged. "They'll get over it eventually. Getting angry with me all the time can't be good for their blood pressure," he said, grinning.

Tam giggled. "Oh God, don't even joke! Those old fogies would blame you for their coronary as they got wheeled off into the ambulance!"

They snickered together for a minute longer before they calmed down and got back to work, and Tim resolved to put the incident with Reynolds out of his mind.

Tim slumped over his desk. He'd had to miss a whole day of work for a Titans emergency that needed all hands on deck, and it meant he'd missed two important meetings. Tam, the blessing she was, had neatly collated the meeting minutes and put sticky-notes on the places of most importance, but Tim had still ended up staying late to read them over in their entirety and catch up on any other work he'd missed. When he finally finished and glanced up at his window, it was already dark, and a look to his watch showed it was almost six thirty.

Tim peeled himself off the chair and slung on his jacket, collecting his messenger bag and empty thermos before making his way to the elevators. Everyone had left, save the janitorial staff, and Tim waved to the woman on duty. Her sister had recently given birth; maybe he should arrange for her to be sent a bouquet or something.

"Fancy seeing you here so late," said a voice from behind.

Tim amended his previous thought. Almost everyone had left.

Tim pasted on a fake smile and turned. "Hi, Mr. Reynolds. So you're staying late, too."

The man lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. "Needed to fix some last-minute accounting errors," he said, matching his stride to Tim's.

They waited for the elevator in silence, and when the doors opened, Reynolds gestured for Tim to select the floor. He pressed the button with a moment's hesitation. Reynolds stepped back into the elevator, so Tim figured they must have parked on the same floor.

The same sense of unease he'd felt the last time he was around Reynolds built, but Tim didn't know if he was making it up. When the elevator finally pinged and opened at their floor, Tim had to fight not to burst out and run to his car.

"How about I walk you to your car," said Reynolds with a bland smile.

Tim blinked. "Oh, thank you, but that's really alright, my car isn't far—"

Reynolds interrupted, "Someone your age shouldn't be out by himself this late. I'll walk you," he said, and waved Tim ahead.

Late? It wasn't even seven yet, and Tim had walked home from gymnastics classes to his parents' brownstone when he was eleven. That wasn't even mentioning the interruption—Tim may have been half Reynolds' age and off the clock, but he was still his boss.

Tim reminded himself that it wasn't worth arguing with the man, and forced himself to lead the way, now feeling properly uncomfortable with Reynolds following him to his car. He slipped his hand into his bag, tucking his keys into his fist like Steph had taught him years before.

Tim stopped a space back from his car, and his heart rate spiked when Reynolds kept moving until he was a half step behind Tim. Tim swallowed, gripping the strap of his bag so tight his knuckles went white.

"Uh, thanks, have a good evening," said Tim in a rush, not even bothering to look properly at Reynolds as he dashed towards his car. The proximity sensor let Tim hop in and lock the doors without fumbling for his keys, his thundering pulse louder than the roar of the engine.

He could still see Reynolds in the rear-view mirror, watching as Tim drove away.

Tim sped home a little faster than usual, and failed to convince himself it wasn't the fear.

A few weeks later, Tim was willing to chalk up being followed to his car as a misunderstanding. Reynolds had been casually distant ever since, and hadn't overstepped any boundaries. He was easy to handle over email, where Tim could keep the conversation brief, and any possible... weirdness was kept at bay by the fact that the majority of Tim's emails were handled by Tam instead.

That still left a good amount of work for Tim to handle, the constant exchange of words almost as exhausting as a full Arkham breakout. Even glancing at the state of his inbox instilled a deep weariness, but it was up to him to reply while Tam was on her break.

There was a knock at the door while Tim was still figuring out how to politely tell the head of marketing there was no freaking way he'd be doing any interviews with the Gazette. The glass and steel behemoth swung open on silent hinges before closing with a gentle click.

Tim didn't look up from his tablet. "You're back quick, Tam," he said distractedly, "I thought you wanted almond croissants from the café on the corner?"

A deep chuckle sounded, and Tim flung his head up from his tablet to see Reynolds standing in his office.

"Ah," said Tim awkwardly. "You're not Tam."

Reynolds raised an eyebrow. "Hmm, no, but I did see your assistant down at the café. A busy girl," he said blandly.

Tim dredged up an uncomfortable smile, wilfully ignoring the ball of anxiety in his chest at being along in a room with the man. "I'm sorry, you'll have to wait until my assistant gets back before I can help," he said apologetically. "I can contact her now if it's urgent—"

"No, no, I'm here to talk to you," said Reynolds.

Tim withheld a grimace. "With all due respect, Mr. Reynolds, now really isn't the time for a conversation. Work to be done, and all," he said, tipping his head towards Reynolds in the hopes he'd pick up the hint and leave.

Reynolds smiled. "That there is," he said, turning to wander the makeshift gallery along the walls.

Tim scowled at his back. He was getting tired of Reynolds refusing to listen to any of Tim's requests to leave him be. He pulled up his chat log with Tam, listing out his every annoyance with the man and asking her to come back from the café and help, please.

Reynolds stopped in front of a painting of the Manor gifted to Tim by Damian. "They're not working you too hard in Mr. Wayne's absence, are they? Some of us worry about you," he said, looking over the artwork appreciatively.

You should be calling me Mr. Wayne, too, Tim didn't say. "Just because I'm young, doesn't mean I don't know my way around a business, Mr. Reynolds," he said. Another complaint added to his list for Tam.

"Even though you never graduated high school?" said Reynolds. He was still facing away from Tim, but the amusement was clear in his voice.

Tim's cheeks pinked. "I have my GED," he said, barely restraining his anger. "Mr. Reynolds, is there anything you wanted?"

Tim was five seconds out from calling for security. His nerves were dialled up to eleven, and he had zero clues as to why Reynolds was even bothering to talk to him; had he seen Tam in the café and come up specially to embarrass Tim while she was out?

Reynolds hummed. "You know, people think there's another reason you inherited this position from Mr. Wayne," he said conversationally.

Tim frowned, and put down his tablet, the message to Tam still unsent. "What do you mean?" he asked, mind churning at the thought of any civilian employee having the tiniest inkling of Ra's and his plans.

Reynolds' lip quirked up. "You're more naïve than I thought," he mused, and let out a chuckle.

The implied meaning took a moment to sink in. Tim flushed darkly, mortification flooding his system as the blood pooled in his cheeks. He was too shocked to do more than look aghast.

"You haven't?" Reynolds asked lowly.

Tim sputtered. "No! That's— Bruce is my dad, he would never do something like that, how dare you."

Reynolds' eyes darkened. "You don't want to know who's been wondering?" he asked.

Tim's gut roiled, his hands clutching the wood of his desk so hard they were shaking. "Mr. Reynolds, leave before I call for security," he forced out through gritted teeth.

Reynolds raised his arms, taking a step backwards towards the door. "Alright, I can tell when I'm not wanted. If you're ever curious, you know where to find me."

"Leave," Tim snapped.

Reynolds left.

Tim panted, fury and adrenaline still hurtling through his veins. He inhaled deeply and let it out in a rush, struggling to reign in his speeding heart rate.

After a minute of controlled breathing, the adrenaline faded, and left him feeling sick.

How many in management thought that Bruce had— that Tim had let Bruce—

Tim squeezed his eyes shut. There was no point worrying about it. Rumours were rumours, and Lucius would shut down anything like that if he heard it. Tam too.

Tim looked down at his tablet, still open to his message history with Tam. The thought of writing out what happened, explaining to her exactly what Reynolds had implied... Tim's stomach shrivelled.

He deleted the text.

The door slammed open, and Tim flinched.

"Argh, jeez, sorry I'm late," wheezed Tam, somehow managing to balance a pastry box and tray of coffees as she kicked off her shoes. "The line was longer than I thought, and by the time I got out I realised the time and forgot I should not run in these heels, but—" Tam cut herself off, and frowned at Tim. "Tim, are you okay? Did something happen?" she asked.

The look of genuine concern on her face left Tim feeling wretched over his decision not to tell her, but Tam had enough to worry about with Tim's nighttime job; she didn't need to overwork herself handling Reynolds, too.

Tam didn't press him, but Tim felt the worried glances she sent his way prickling on the back of his neck until it was time to head home.

Tim washed his hands and sighed. His reflection in the bathroom sink looked harried and more tired than ever, and the caked-on foundation concealing a bruise across Tim's jaw looked more obvious than it had earlier that morning.

He'd spent the night helping Nightwing and Black Bat take out a cartel that'd tried to dig its roots into the warehouses at the harbour, and out-of-towners swung much harder when a bat dropped in on them unannounced.

Tim dried his hands and moved back to the mirror. He prodded at the bruise, wincing when the muscle twinged. He'd need to reapply the foundation in case it didn't hold up for his afternoon meeting.

The door through to the cubicles swung open, and Tim's eyes flicked up at the movement.

He froze.

"Mr. Reynolds," Tim said haltingly.

Tim had done his best to avoid the man since the last time he'd seen him. He felt on edge whenever he was in the same room, and twitchy even when he wasn't. Lucius had noticed Tim's reluctance to deal with Reynolds, and though he pressed harder than Tam, he eventually accepted Tim's excuse about a disagreement over numbers. He knew Lucius didn't believe him, but Tim didn't want to ruin someone's career over some words.

"Mr. Drake," replied Reynolds with that same bland smile.

Tim eyed the exit, but he didn't want to turn his back to Reynolds or rush out like a fool. He watched warily as Reynolds joined him by the sink, washing his hands placidly as if Tim wasn't frozen next to him.

Tim tried to inch backwards towards the door, but when Reynolds made for the hand dryers the movement sent Tim into a sudden panic and his body went stock-still, preventing him from moving a single muscle.

A voice inside his head yelled at him to move, but for some stupid fucking reason his feet were locked into place, a paralysing fear holding Tim immobile.

Tim's eyes stayed helplessly trained on Reynolds as he slowly made he way back over to Tim, stopping with only a few feet keeping them apart.

"Feels like it's been a while since we spoke," said Reynolds.

Tim swallowed. "Has it," he said quietly. He could hardly hear his own voice over the pulse of his blood in his ears, still screaming at himself to just move.

Reynolds let out a huff that may have been a laugh and took a step forwards, and the terror holding Tim immobile abated just enough for him to shuffle backwards a fraction of a distance.

Reynolds tilted his head. "You know, your hair looks pretty like this," he said, and reached for Tim's face.

Tim jerked back violently at the brush of a fingertip, pressing himself back into the sink.

Tim stuttered, "I— I've got to go," and ran for the door.

Tim was halfway back to his office when he slammed into someone in the corridor.

"Sorry," he gasped, stumbling backwards, an electric shock jolting through him as hands gripped his upper arms. The hands sprang away at his full-body flinch.

"Hey, Tim, breathe," said a familiar voice and, God, was that Dick?

Tim pushed his head into Dick's chest and wheezed.

"Let's get you back to the office," he said gently, and guided Tim back behind closed doors.

Tim was only vaguely away of the door locking behind them, but the click of the bolt started to settle Tim's frazzled nerves.

Tim had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Dick," he started, "What are you doing here?"

Dick eased Tim into his chair and hopped up onto the desk, swinging his legs like he was twelve, not twenty-six.

"Lucius told Bruce you weren't acting like yourself, and to stop him from slamming in here like an overprotective father with a vendetta I volunteered to come in his stead. How are you, little brother?" he asked, levelling Tim with a tiny smile.

"Would you believe me if I said I was fine?" said Tim, trying to dredge up a wobbly smile in return. He didn't think it worked.

"I know you, bud," Dick said quietly, "And you don't seem okay."

Tim dropped all pretences, slumping in his chair. "There's this one man—he's a department head, and he keeps acting strange and saying weird things to me and I don't like it and I don't know how to make him stop."

Dick slid off the desk and crouched before Tim, slowly placing his hand on Tim's knee and rubbing his thumb back and forth. "What sort of things?" Dick asked, voice deceptively neutral, though his posture screamed who did this to you.

"He didn't—" Tim swallowed, "He didn't do anything to me, Dick."

"You're shaking, kiddo," Dick said gently.

Tim shuddered, suddenly aware of the tremors running through his hands.

"Take your time," Dick murmured, calmly rubbing Tim's knee.

It took a long moment for Tim to find his voice. "It wasn't anything big. Just small things. He kept standing closer than he needed to and saying uncomfortable things, and—" Tim took a deep breath, "Once he followed me to my car. I freaked, and he left me alone for a bit, but then he came to my office when I was alone and said people thought I was only here because I let Bruce—" Tim choked, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence.

"Okay," said Dick slowly. "This guy sounds like a problem. How long has he been harassing you, Tim?"

Tim's face contorted. Calling it harassment made it seem both worse and better than it was. "Dunno, a month and a bit," he said with a shrug.

Dick hummed. "Is he the reason you ran into me earlier?"

Tim mulled over his words for a moment. "He cornered me in the bathroom," he said, and felt Dick's hand tense on his knee.

Tim looked at Dick through his bangs, unsurprised by the barely constrained fury painting his features. Dick closed his eyes and breathed out slowly through his nose.

"Okay," Dick said, voice still shockingly calm, "I guess you haven't told anyone."

"No," mumbled Tim. He shifted slightly, "Are you going to tell Bruce?"

Dick sighed, before standing and tugging Tim over to the leather sofa. He settled down, tugging Tim into his side. "Not if you don't want to, bud, but I think we should. This guy has been pushing your limits for a while now, and you should be able to go to work without some creep making you feel unsafe," he said, giving Tim a light jostle.

Tim pressed himself closer into Dick's side. "'kay," he said.

Dick gave him another squeeze, and Tim closed his eyes. Dick and Bruce would handle Reynolds. Tim just had to let them.

A/N: Tam makes Tim sit through a presentation on how to deal with workplace harassment by telling someone, preferably her, and drags Tim over to her apartment to de-stress over movies and ice cream.

Dick pays Reynolds a visit as Nightwing a few days later.

Thanks for reading xx It's also like, basically 5am, so if you spot any typos lmk. You can find me through the links on my profile. I definitely recommend checking out my AO3, as sElkieNight60 wrote an amazing continuation of this titled Stitch Me Together! You can find it under related works at the end of the fic :)