"Anyone around?" Iceland asks aloud, walking down the stairs to the empty lower floor towards the kitchen in the Nordic house. Just before he can say another word or get any closer to the kitchen, he's pulled into a nearby closet by strong arms.

"Relax, it's just us Ice." A familiar voice says, and he turns around to see Denmark holding his battle axe as Sweden quickly sets to work with locking up the network of locks strung across the closet door. Then pushes a table and multiple other shelves in front of the door.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asks, motioning towards Denmark's axe that hadn't been used in years and what seemed to be an overkill amount of furniture in addition to locks on the door. He also takes note of the ridiculous amount of meatballs stacked in the corner. Who were they hiding from anyway?

The mood immediately becomes somber, and they stay silent for a while.

"We're out of coffee." Sweden finally mumbles.

"We're screwed…" Iceland says slowly, sinking down to the floor next to the pile of meatballs.

"It'll be alright buddy." Denmark says as cheerfully as he can, patting Ice on the shoulder, though they all know it's more to himself than anything.

The three sit in a dark closet for the next two hours, Denmark holding his battle axe at the ready and Sweden multiple IKEA screwdrivers as they listen to the blood curdling screams of Finland and Norway when they realise there's no coffee at all in the house at 6am.

At least they have meatballs.