That Which Joins Us

England can see things that aren't there.

With this second sight England can see magic. He had seen the sacred moonlit rituals of the unicorns, watched the light-hearted dancing of the Faerie folk.

And through this second sight, England can see the red string. Tied in a loose bow around the littlest finger of his left hand, yet England can never get if off. Ever since he can remember that red string has been present, the end trailing off into a world England can't yet see.

He can see other red strings too. England has discovered through time that every nation, every person, has a loose red string tied to their hand. Each one trails off into nothing, as England's does.

Apart from a few. The first time England noticed it, he was still a relatively young nation, hiding in the forest and keeping to himself. He noticed a couple, out on a walk, laughing and joking together. And then the man pulled the woman close and kissed her, and she reached her arms around his neck, and England suddenly realised that the strings tied around their fingers were joined. It was only one piece of string, holding the two people together.

The red string of fate reveals your soulmate.

England was fascinated at first. But as time grew on, and he found no other person attached to the same string circling his finger, England began to give up.

And then he found him.

He was only tiny, just an infant. But England locked eyes with him… with that child's gloriously clear blue eyes… and he realised that the string trailing off the infant's finger was linked to his own. And the child blinked, his eyes sparkling, and England's heart suddenly swelled.

It wasn't easy, trying to gain custody of him. But England did it. And when he cradled the new America in his arms for the first time, the red string connecting their fingers, their souls, England had to blink back tears of joy.

Of course, things were not that simple. England was a young man, and America only a young child. And there were others, others who caught England's eye.

The most prominent of these others was Spain.

Spain. That first night, when England and the fiery Spaniard had lost themselves to each other, and the resulting nights that had followed. Spain was fierce, passionate and warm, the glow of battle in his eyes never flickering during their time together. And England had welcomed that, had welcomed the challenge he had been given.

But all that time, a sick guilt would churn in the bottom of England's stomach. America would blink those sky eyes up at him, babbling away happily about his pet rabbit and how green the grass had been that day, and England's eyes would always be drawn to the red string connecting them.

Spain has his own string, too. England had wondered about that, until the day Spain brought South Italy over to England's place. Spain had danced with Romano, laughing while the younger shouted insults, and England felt the guilt lift off him as he gazed at the red string connecting Spain and the small Italian together.

He had danced with America that night too, he remembered. And America had hugged England tightly, laughing giddily as England spun around the room.

England stared down at the red string on his finger, remembering that night. Remembering how happy America had been, his face lit up with delight as England twirled him through the air.

Remembering how that small boy had grown into a man.

"England?" America asked, his eyes wide with concern. "You okay?"

England jumped in surprise, blinking back tears. "Of course I am!" He stood up abruptly, shuffling his papers so he wouldn't have to look at the other man. "What are you still doing here? The meeting ended ten minutes ago."

America grinned sheepishly. "I just forgot my jacket." He pulled it off the back of his chair, flinging it loosely over one shoulder. "It was hot in here today, so I kinda forgot about it."

England rolled his eyes, stuffing the papers into his file. "Typical."

America laughed, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Yeah, good thing I didn't forget it! Otherwise I might have lost it forever!" He patted his jacket comfortingly, striding out of the room. "Anyway, see you around Iggy!"

"My name is England, you wanker!" England shouted after him automatically.

"Whatever, Iggy!" America called back.

England waited until his had gone, still fiddling with his files half-heartedly. "Wanker," he repeated quietly, biting his bottom lip as he lightly rubbed the base of his little finger. He couldn't feel anything, but he could still see it, the red as vivid as blood.

And he had seen it on America's hand. And, as he always did, he had seen the string that connected the ribbons on both of their hands stretched loosely over the table. Joining them together.

England wished that the red string would just snap already.