All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners (Cartoon Network). For a prompt on YJ_Anon_Meme.

"A ring is a halo on your finger."

He's not sure, exactly, when the rings became more than just rings to him. At first, they were just keepsakes, one of the few things he was allowed to keep. They were too big for his skinny fingers, at first, and he didn't want to lose them, so he strung them on a chain under his shirt. Bruce had just given him a look, and Alfred had never commented, but it's his life, and his way of honoring his parents.

He grows into his mother's all on his own, and it just takes a little wax to pad the inside of his father's until it fits. They shine so bright, and the silver that flashes from his fingers when he flips, or grabs a trapeze, or types remind him of where he's from, and why he's Robin, and what he's given up to become who he is.

They don't affect the way his gloves fit, and for that, he's inordinately grateful.

No one ever sees Robin's fingers, and Dick doesn't draw attention to his hands, not if he can help it. And anyone who does notice, well, they all know the story of Dick Grayson, circus orphan, and everyone knows better than to comment.

But then Robin starts hanging with Kid Flash. Wally is open and bright and brash, and he doesn't know that some subjects are too raw to bring up, ever. So before he knows Robin shares Dick's story, he catches sight of twin flashes of silver when they're hanging out in civvies, one day.

"Dude, are you married or something?" he asks lightheartedly. He doesn't really believe Robin is, come on, he's eleven. Mostly, he's just curious.

Only, Robin shuts right up and his back and shoulders go stiff. Wally knows he's said something wrong, but he doesn't know why that question would trigger it. "It's cool, never mind, don't worry about it..." he says, trying to laugh it off and ease the tension in his friend's body. "Stupid question, right?"

"No," Robin snaps, and Wally recoils, just a little. Then the younger boy sighs, and all the energy seems to drain right out of him. "Sorry. No, it wasn't stupid, no, I'm not married. They're just—" only his throat is tight and his tongue is thick and there's a stinging in his eyes, and if he opens his mouth now he's gonna cry all over again. "Never mind, it's not important," he says instead, and the lie burns on his tongue like acid.

Wally eyes him sideways, and remains totally unconvinced. It's obviously something huge, to make his friend break composure like that, but it's equally obvious that he doesn't want to talk about it. "Right," Wally says. "Have you heard about the most recent alien invasion? Supposedly, it's these mind-controlling starfish, or something."

And the change in topic is obvious, but Robin accepts it, and musters up something approaching a smile. "Yeah, no, not quite," he says. "Batman's report said they were alien parasites, but only drones, with no will of their own, see?"

Wally laughs, and asks how they could invade if they're so dumb, and Robin rolls his eyes behind his glasses and explains the concept of central intelligence and hive minds, duh, and it quickly devolves into an argument over tactics for repelling the Borg.

Wally never gets an answer about the rings, but he knows better than to try to ask again.

Which is why he winces the first time Kaldur mentions it. They've just met Aqualad, and so the four of them are hanging out in Star City. Wally and Robin showed up to drag Roy out to meet their new friend, and now they're chilling on the beach.

Literally, chilling. It's November, and freezing. However, it also means they're the only ones insane enough to sit on the cold sand, and so have the beach to themselves.

Roy and Kaldur are watching the other two build a sand-Doomsday-Device. It's very complex and mechanical looking, and also constantly falling apart due to wind.

"Dude, don't you have sand-glue or anything in your belt?" Wally asks, trying desperately to hold the targeting antenna together.

Robin sends him a look that he knows from experience is dirty, even if he can't see his eyes. "Sand-glue? Really?" and then the control panel falls apart in Robin's hands, and he curses and Wally laughs at him. Then Robin dusts the sand off his hands and arms, and twists the rings, one by one, to drive the sand out from under them.

"I'll hold those for you, if you like," Kaldur offers. He's already holding Wally's shoes and sunglasses, and Robin's jacket. It's the logical thing to say, but it makes both Wally and Robin freeze. Wally knows, now, knows what they mean and where they're from, and why Dick doesn't want to talk about them.

The silence is charged, and Wally's watching Robin, breath caught, and Robin is staring at his hands, and Roy and Kaldur look between the two, confused.

"No thanks," Robin finally manages, only it comes out strangled and choked. Wally sits up on his knees, but Robin shakes his head, once, minutely, twists the ring again, and then looks up, smiling bright and faked. "We need wet sand," he announces. "Kaldur, you go get water. Roy, come here and hold this, would you?"

"No," Roy says, mostly relieved that the odd silence is over. "I'm not playing in the sand with you. What are you guys, ten?"

Wally and Robin trade looks, and Roy folds his arms. "No," he says. "It's silly and hard to get sand out of uncomfortable places and you can't make me."

By the time Kaldur gets back from the water's edge, Wally and Robin have decided that harnessing the power of Angroy would be a much better Doomsday Device, and have covered the archer in sand. Roy is yelling and kicking, so Kaldur dumps the cold water on top of him. Robin cheers, Wally high-fives Kaldur, and, despite that awkward moment, the afternoon is quite the success.

And it's mostly forgotten, because Robin is Robin and Dick is Dick, and the two don't usually meet. But then he starts wearing civvies around the team, because it's hard to be Robin for that long. It doesn't come up again until one weekend, months after they form the team, when M'gann is both baking and shapeshifting. Robin's helping her, and Artemis has enlisted Kaldur into her quest to ignore homework by making the perfect paper airplane. Wally is trouncing Superboy at video games, but Conner is getting better, really, he is.

"No," Robin laughs, "I'm shorter than that, and the hair is off." M'gann shrinks a bit, and the hair falls differently. "Great, you've got the basics down, so how about the clothes?" She manifests his jeans and t-shirt, and green hoodie, and then changes it to a tuxedo, just for laughs. And Robin does laugh, and waves a batter-covered spoon at her, which she dodges, dropping the shape.

"Now, now," he chides, smiling, "Gotta keep the shape under pressure!"

She makes the towel fly at his head, and he ducks it, so she chases him around the kitchen. Artemis cheers them on, and Kaldur just smiles and shakes his head.

"What's going on?" Wally calls from the couch, but he can't bring himself to turn away from the game.

Which would be about when Robin slides under the table, and M'gann accidentally slaps him in the face with the milk carton. It upsets, and explodes milk all over him, leading him to slip and fall, and Megan shrieks in dismay.

"Are you okay?" she asks, reaching out to help him up. He's laughing so hard he doesn't bother trying to stand for a while, and waves her concern off.

"I'm fine," he gasps. "And your aim has gotten much better."

She tries out a smile, because he doesn't seem to be hurt. He reaches up and grabs her hand, and she pulls. Only, it's wet with milk, and hard to hold, and it slips from her grasp, fingers catching on something hard, so that Robin comes up only to go right back down.

"Oh, sorry!" she says again, wincing and smiling, because he's so hilarious, sometimes. But he's not laughing now, not smiling, is just looking at his hand. "Are you okay?" she asks, concern back full force, and kneels down beside him.

He suddenly lunges at her, and she flies backwards, just a bit, just enough to catch him, but mitigate the impact. She gasps, and he grabs at her hand, the one still in a fist. "Hey, Robin, what—" she starts, but her fingers uncurl, and he grabs the item from her palm.

It's a ring, she thinks, when she sees it flash in the light. He shines it carefully on his wet shirt, and then slips it back on his finger. And now that she's looking for it, she sees the matching one on the other hand. He breathes, in out in out, and then looks up at her apologetically.

"S—sorry," he stutters. "I didn't mean—sorry. Are you okay?"

She stares at him, unsure what to say. And then Artemis is there, and Kaldur, helping them both up.

M'gann manages, "Yes, I'm fine," and lets Artemis tow her over to a chair.

"Right," Robin says, shame heavy in his voice. "I'm just gonna—go change."

He makes his way to the exit, unmindful of the silence or the looks, and slides out the door as soon as it's open. He breathes out, and looks at the rings, seeing their familiar shine against his skin.

"What was that about?" he hears Artemis asks. "What even happened?"

"We don't ask about the rings," Kaldur says, voice serious. "I don't know why, but don't ask, okay?"

And he hears the silence that is Wally keeping his secret, and he tries to smile a little. The rings are a reassuring weight, and he stares at them, and breathes again.

And then his milk-soaked clothes get the best of him, and he goes to change. He'll apologize to M'gann again later.

Then the day comes when Bruce is acting odd. Well, not odd-odd, like, not mind-control-odd, just something's-a-little-off-odd. So he pays more attention and watches carefully, and it isn't long before he finds out what exactly it is that Bruce isn't telling him, and why.

Bruce probably thinks he'll go right off the rails when he finds out they've pegged the mob that runs the circus protection racket.

It's long been a sore point with him that the group left town to duck the publicity. It wasn't fair how he got cheated of his chance for revenge. It isn't fair, and he knows it, and he's been kept up no few nights by it, twisting the rings and imagining all the horrible, wonderful things he could do to those idiots who took away the most precious thing in his world.

Just because he's one of the good guys doesn't mean he can't be vengeful and angry and just a touch dark. Because he may be a good guy, but he's Gotham's good guy, and that makes all the difference.

So he makes a plan, and before they leave for patrol that night, he takes off his rings. For the first time in a long time, his fingers are bare. It looks strange, and he feels almost naked as he feels the indents they've left in his skin.

But they don't need to see what he's going to do tonight. That's his burden to bear.

And when Bruce drags him back home later, kicking and screaming and ranting and spattered with blood, he's glad he left them off. For all his yelling, he's glad that Bruce has a tight grip on his collar. Just because he left the guy alive once doesn't mean he won't go back. The guy is still there, he's sure; it's hard to move with shattered kneecaps. And it would be so easy to slip out of the cave, and run back there, and...

Bruce throws him in his room with orders to take a shower and go to bed, and locks the door behind him. Instead, he heads right to the box on his nightstand and digs them out, the familiar circles of silver that are just the same as they were yesterday, but look so wrong on his blood-stained hands. They're heavy, now, and the way they shine is duller, and he looks at them, and then falls onto his bed, curls up tight, and cries himself to sleep.

He wakes up sticky and sore and with salt in his eyes, and his fingers are still curled around the bands of silver, simple and elegant, innocent and perfect, shining with love and polished with tears.

When he manages to make it downstairs, clean at last and with bare fingers, Alfred gives him some soup and Bruce just makes sure he's there, and alive. No one says anything about going to school.

And he stares at his fingers, and thinks. He thinks about those times under the big top, where he swung out, and they'd catch him, with a smile and a laugh. She was so pretty, and he was so strong, and he misses them so much. But he has their rings, even if he's not sure when they became a substitute for his parents.

But Bruce is there, and the rings looked so wrong over the blood on his hands, and he makes a decision. It's painful, but he knows it has to happen. Because flying is all about the balance, and if you hold on too long, you're gonna miss the landing.

He pushes the bowl away, untouched, and wanders back upstairs. Bruce follows him, but he doesn't say a word until he's got both rings in his hands again.

He turns them over, watching the sunlight from his window play across the metal, and it's as bright as he remembers their smiles to be. So he opens the box that held them last night, and sets them gently inside.

"Putrav lesko drom angle leste te na inkrav les mai but palpale mura brigasa," he murmurs, and takes a deep breath and closes the lid.

"What was that?" Bruce asks quietly, behind him.

Dick blinks rapidly and tries out a smile. It isn't bright or wide, but it doesn't hurt, either. "It was...I let them go," he explains, or tries to. "It's a thing, from our people. It means...to end the mourning and move on. And it was time."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Dick says, and thinks of the cycle of flying; the catch and release, the catch, and the release, and it hurts so clean. "Yes," he says, "I'm sure."