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Tim’s always been cold. When he was younger, he’d tried everything to get warm. Showers so hot that his skin turned red. Layers upon layers of clothes. Sleeping on top of a vent or in the sun. He’s even tried heating clothes in the dryer before wearing them. But it never helps—his teeth still chatter, his body shakes until it aches then keeps going, his finger tips are always blue.
There were things he knew were colder than that though. The look his mother gave him whenever he messed up (so, every time he saw her). The silence of the house when he climbed back in through the window after a long night trailing Batman and Robin. The feeling when he watched other kids getting picked up from school by their parents. These things were all much colder than he ever felt before. Tim thinks that his parents might be able to thaw him out if they'd smile at him, hug him, maybe like him. But that's childish and stupid, so he just tries to stay warm.
When he’s about ten, it takes nearly a day for him to realize that his parents have turned off the heating system. He’s always cold, so he figures it’s just more of that. But then the pipes freeze and burst. The power goes out. And he realizes that it’s not just him. He tries to turn the heat on using the thermostat, but it doesn’t work. He figures that his parents probably had it turned off so that they wouldn’t have to pay any extra fees.
But it’s so cold, too cold, much colder than he’s ever felt. He can feel his insides freeze and ache. His hands get too stiff to move. He’s scared, and that’s cold too. He doesn’t sleep that night, because he knows what hypothermia is and he knows that sleeping is dangerous. He stays awake, trying to remember every warm feeling he’s ever had. But he’s still cold.
When he’s thirteen, he becomes Robin. It’s the first time he finds out that he can be warm. He’s warm when he saves people, or when Bruce says that he’s done well. He’s warm whenever Dick grins at him, calls him “little brother” and just touches him—ruffles his hair, pulls him into a hug, pats him on the shoulder, all the time. No one has touched Tim in years, maybe not ever, and it’s so warm. The Manor is warm and loud and it’s filled with life. He actually gets warmer, shivers less, can feel his fingers.
But it’s cold sometimes too. It’s cold every time Bruce gets that look, the one that says he’s disappointed, and it’s colder than his mother’s ever was, because he’s not just failing as Tim, he’s failing as Robin. It’s cold every time he doesn’t save the person, doesn’t stop the bomb. It’s cold when Batman yells at him for messing up.
His mom dies and his dad dies and he’s just so cold. Bruce hugs him, and it’s warm, but Tim is cold inside too, and the hug is never long enough to thaw him out all the way through. He’s always cold, always frozen and ready to shatter. Dick doesn’t come around much, and Tim misses being warm. He thinks maybe Dick could thaw him out, but he knows how selfish that is, how childish and needy. He should be able to thaw himself out. That’s what his parents expected, what Bruce expects now, isn’t it?
It’s cold in the Manor now. It wasn’t cold before Tim moved in, he knows it was warm before he was there. When he had to go home, it was always cold. But the Manor was so warm, and it was worth the cold just to be Robin and to feel warm while he was there. Now it’s cold there too.
Tim wonders if maybe he’s meta-human, that he causes the cold. But the tests come back negative. So whatever the problem is, it’s just Tim. Tim is the one who is cold, who can’t get warm, who causes people to be cold.
The Manor is cold, but Bruce is starting to be warm, Tim is starting to thaw, and then Jason comes back. After that, it’s freezing. He knows that Bruce just wants to get his son back, he knows that Jason is just hurting. He knows that it’s all his fault. Tim caused this somehow, and they must have seen it too, because he doesn’t see any expressions besides disappointment on Bruce’s face and Jason want to kill him. Tim wonders if it’s warm when you die.
When Bruce dies, he takes any warmth Tim has left, and Tim’s already so cold that he can’t really feel anything--or so he hopes. But it turns out that he can feel, even now. He feels the icy cold when Damian takes Robin. When Dick doesn’t believe him and he has to do everything himself, he’s frozen inside and outside after that. He’s frozen and nothing is warm, not even for a second.
Bruce comes back, and Tim hopes that maybe he’ll thaw out. Maybe this will fix whatever’s wrong with him and he’ll be warm again. But Damian stays Robin, and Bruce doesn’t say anything about Tim living alone. He’s been frozen out of the Manor, and he might as well be made of ice because he’s already shattered.
Tim’s always been cold. But he doesn’t shiver anymore. He doesn’t notice the aches or the blue finger tips. He’s so completely frozen, he doesn’t thaw out anymore. Maybe that’s what his parents expected—not for him to thaw and be weak, but for him to freeze solid and be solitary and unapproachable, like a glacier. After all, glaciers shape the earth, just like they wanted him to.