Early one morning at a suave office building in downtown Brussels, two hundred or so nations were arriving for a meeting to discuss alternative energy. Japan, never one to arrive especially late nor early, scouted the parking lot for a spot to park his small rental. He caught sight of a space directly next to a larger SUV and just as he pulled in, a familiar blond head poked out of the driver's seat.
"Hello America," Japan greeted.
"Hey Japan!" he replied with a smile, "How ya been?"
"Fine, thank you. And you?"
"Great! Hey, come check this out." America gestured towards the trunk of his rental. Japan walked over and watched as he reached in and pulled out a massive presentation board. The words upon it read:
The Amaizing Truth About Corn
Presented by
Alfred F. Jones and
The United States Department of Agriculture
"You like that?" America grinned, "I came up with the title myself."
Japan thoughtfully stared at the board without saying a word.
"Oh come on," America laughed, "You don't think it's too…corny?"
Japan blinked. "Oh, no," he said, "It is a nice name. I apologize. I was… thinking about something."
"Ha, don't worry about it," the younger nation said with a wave, "Hey, can you save me a seat at the meeting. I gotta get a few things together for my presentation."
"Of course," Japan replied with a nod, "I will see you inside."
With another wave, America turned back towards his trunk. Japan slowly walked across the parking lot and into the office building. Inside, the nations stood around talking to each other. Japan noticed England near the entrance batting away France's hand. He approached the two.
"Hello Mr. England," he greeted, "Mr. France."
The nations took a break from their bickering to say hello.
"Mr. England," Japan began, "I would like to ask you a question."
"Sure, anything," he responded.
"You know America's human name, correct?"
"Yes," England answered, "Alfred F. Jones."
"Yes, that," Japan looked down, "I would have asked him this, but I didn't want to seem rude."
"Yes, spit it out."
"Do you know what the F stands for?"
"The F? It stands for…for…er…" England scratched his head.
"You don't know, do you?"France said with a smirk.
"Shut it, frog," he snapped, "Of course I know what the F stands for. I practically raised the boy myself. You think I wouldn't know his name?"
"Then prove it. Tell us what it means."
"It's… it's…ahh, screw it! Hell if I know."
France basked in his schadenfreude and laughed. "The F stands for Francis, after his favorite big brother."
"There's no way he would name himself after you," England glared at the Frenchman.
"Actually, it might stand for Francis," a third voice chimed in.
The nations jumped. "Canada?" England nearly shouted, "When did you get here?"
"What do you mean?" he replied, "I've been standing here this whole time!"
All three stared blankly at him.
"Seriously? We carpooled together!"
No response.
"I bet the narrator forgot about me too. Bunch of fucking hosers." Canada rolled his eyes. "Anyway, as I was saying, America might have chosen Francis as part of his human name. After all, that's the name of the guy who wrote his national anthem."
"Mr. Canada," Japan asked, "Are you saying that you don't know your twin brother's middle name?"
"Yeah," Canada rubbed his neck, "When you put it that way, it sounds pretty bad. But what can I say? He only really uses the F."
"So, just to be clear, none of you know one hundred percent what the F stands for?"
Canada, England, and France all shrugged.
"If I were you, I'd go ask Romano," Canada advised, "He lived with America for a while back during the Industrial Revolution. He might know."
"Ah, thank you," Japan replied. He said good-bye and set off to find the irritable Italian.
Romano stood waiting for the elevator to arrive, trying his best to ignore Spain's attempts to speak to him. As soon as he saw Japan approaching, his face lit up.
"Japan," he gasped, "Thank god! I've been trying to get rid of this dumbass all morning!" The elevator doors dinged and opened up. Japan and Romano stepped inside and, much to the latter's chagrin, Spain followed closely behind.
"Mr. South Italy, can I ask you a question about America?"
Romano's face scrunched in confusion. "America? I guess. Go ahead."
"Do you know what his middle initial stands for?"
"What?"
"The F in his name. Do you know what it means?"
"It's uh…" Romano thought for a moment.
"It's okay if you don't know, Romano," Spain said kindly.
"I know that," Romano snapped, "How the hell am I supposed to know anyway? It's not my fault the dumb bastard decided to keep his middle name a secret!"
"It's a secret?" asked Japan.
"What else would you call it?" Romano retorted, "He never told me what it stood for!"
"Well, did you ever ask?" Spain laughed.
Romano shut his mouth and looked away guiltily. "No," he admitted, "I didn't. But can you blame me? He was always too busy to talk. Then he started making me do actual work." He shook his head angrily. "He was always asking for Italian food, but he never had the right ingredients. How are you supposed to make food out of nothing but corn and butter? The stupid F probably stands for fried, or fatass, or fucking slave driver! I mean, come on! You're his best friend, shouldn't you know this?"
Japan stood silently across from the fuming Italian. Spain coughed awkwardly. The elevator once again dinged and opened its doors. Romano sighed heavily. "Listen, I'm sorry for getting all worked up. Why don't you ask Lithuania? He worked for America at the same time I did. America liked him better though. Not that I'm surprised. I'm always the least favorite."
"Oh, Romano," Spain exclaimed, "That's not true! You're my favorite!"
"Wow," Romano replied sarcastically, "What an accomplishment." Japan noticed his small smile, but didn't mention it. He thanked the Italian before leaving the elevator.
When Japan entered the half-full meeting room, he scanned the area for Lithuania, unsure if the Baltic nation had even arrived yet. Luckily, Japan spotted him sitting next to Poland, listening politely to his friend's babbling.
"Sorry to interrupt," Japan interrupted, "But I want to ask Mr. Lithuania a question."
Taken slightly aback by the nation's unusual directness, Poland shut his mouth. Lithuania nodded for him to go on.
"What does the F in America's human name stand for?"
Lithuania hummed in thought. "I'm not sure. Knowing Mr. America, it's probably something dramatic and idealistic, like freedom."
'Or fondue," Poland added.
"What?"
"Fondue, Liet," Poland repeated with an eye roll, "It's where you dip food into cheese."
"I know what fondue is, Po. I just don't understand why America would choose that as his middle name?"
"Because it tastes good, duh."
"Nobody names themselves fondue!"
'Nobody names themselves Toris, either, but that didn't stop you!"
Lithuania shook his head and sighed. "Okay, maybe the F stands for fondue, but we don't know for sure."
"You know who would know," Poland smirked.
"Who?"
"You know who."
"No, I don't, Po, just say it."
"Him." Poland looked over Japan's shoulder. Lithuania followed his gaze and let out a small gasp.
"Russia?"
"Does Mr. Russia know what the F stands for?" Japan asked.
"I'd hate to say it, but he might, actually," Lithuania answered, "During the Cold War, Mr. Russia ordered a lot of surveillance over Mr. America's house. He found out a lot of personal information."
"If anyone would know what the F stands for, it would be that creep," Poland agreed.
Japan turned to look at the large nation quietly knitting. Next to him, Belarus sat sharpening a knife. Both gave off an ominous aura that Japan wasn't entirely sure he wanted to interact with.
He looked back at Lithuania and Poland. "Wish me luck," he said before swallowing his discomfort and marching over to the siblings.
"Mr. Russia," Japan addressed firmly, "Do you know what America's middle initial stands for?"
Russia looked up from his knitting needles with an amused expression. "Ah, yes. The mysterious F," he said smoothly, "Japan, I have been spying on America for years. I know things that would make every single person he knows question their relationship with him. I know his darkest secrets, his biggest regrets. Sometimes I think I know things about him that even he hasn't figured out yet. But I have never, for the life of me, figured out what that F stands for. There are no documents, no witnesses, nothing. I don't even know why he uses it."
"He thinks it makes him sound smarter," Belarus interjected.
"Huh?" Russia seemed completely surprised.
"I said he thinks it makes him sound smarter," she repeated, "The F. Back when I lived with him, I asked him why he always used it. He said that it made his name sound important and people took him seriously with it. It's supposedly 'intellectual' and makes him sound smarter. It doesn't work. He's still a fucking moron."
"So what does it stands for?" Russia asked eagerly.
"I don't know," she replied, not once looking up from her knife, "I never asked him that."
"Why not?" Russia stared at his sister incredulously.
Belarus shrugged. "I just didn't care."
"WHAT THE FUCK, BELARUS?" Japan suddenly shouted. The entire meeting room fell silent. Belarus sat frozen, knife in hand and stunned expression on her face.
"Why would you ask him about the F and not actually find out what it means? Who the hell does that?"
The island nation turned to Russia. "You," he yelled, "How can you stalk someone for half a century and not find what their initial stands for?"
Japan faced Lithuania and Poland. "The F does not stand for fondue! That's fucking stupid! Don't let your friend say stupid shit, Lithuania!"
He pointed at Romano. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself whenever you have to do work. You aren't anyone's favorite because you bitch all of the time!"
"Japan, for god's sake, calm down!" England ordered from the entrance, France and Canada following closely behind, "You're overreacting."
"No, you're under-reacting!" he shouted, marching up to them, "You call yourselves his brothers, and you don't even know his name! Doesn't that bother you?"
Japan stood in front of everyone and looked down upon their guilty faces. "Well, it bothers me. I'm no better. It's like you said, Romano. I'm his best friend, and I don't even know, and that makes me a pretty shitty best friend, doesn't it? And now I'm having an emotional breakdown over a stupid, fucking F!" Japan laughed. 'And you know what the worst part is? I can't even ask America what it means without sounding like a massive dick!"
"Ask me what what means?"
Japan jumped and turned around to see America standing in the doorway, a box full of corn-based products in one arm, and his presentation board under the other.
Japan snatched the board away from him and furiously pointed at the F. "This! What does this mean? I have been trying to find out since I got here and nobody knows! What are you hiding, America? What does the F stand for?"
Everyone in the room sat on the edge of their seats and looked at America expectantly.
"Japan," he said quietly, "I never told you my middle name?"
"No," Japan replied through clenched teeth.
America grinned. "Well why didn't you say so? It's…" He paused for a moment as his smile was replaced by a thoughtful expression. "You know, now that I think about it, I don't even remember. Huh." America stared off into the distance, then shook his head and shrugged. "Oh, well."
Japan watched with a gaping mouth as America pulled a Sharpie out of his pocket, reached over to the board, and crossed out the period next to the F. The words now read:
The Amaizing Truth About Corn
Presented by
Alfred F Jones and
The United States Department of Agriculture
"There," he said with a satisfied grin, "Now it doesn't stand for anything."
Japan glared harshly at America. Then, without breaking eye contact, he ripped the presentation board in half, threw the pieces on the ground, and walked out of the meeting room.
America looked down at the sad bits of corn-patterned cardboard. He let out a deep sigh.
"Well, shucks."
The End.
A.N.
I hope y'all hate me for this story.
The whole thing with the corn has to do with the USA's strange obsession with it. Seriously, we love corn way more than normal here. We use it as fodder, bio-fuel, sweetener, plastic, fabric, ornamentation, bait, and tradable commodities. We also produce the most corn in the world by far. But I'm not complaining, because corn is really good.
Also, about the F. It technically doesn't stand for anything, because Hima kept it open ended when he was asked about it, though apparently he played around with the words Foster, Franklin, and Fuck. However, in American culture, the middle initial is often considered more important than the actual name. Just look at how many American presidents and historical figures use their middle initial in their name. The S. in President Harry S. Truman's name didn't stand for anything at all. And studies show that using the middle initial does make you sound more important, no matter what Belarus says.
This might be late because I'm posting this at about 11:45, but Happy Thanksgiving!