So yeah. I haven't written fic for a long while now. Let's see what happens.

Kurt ran.

He could hear his footsteps thudding along the forest floor, crunching through the thin carpet of leaves that had fallen early from the trees. He could also hear the jeering shouts of the jocks behind him, three of them, screaming fag and slow down, queer! And he knew that if he even thought about doing so he'd end up with more than the bloody nose and sore ribs he had already gained.

He was sobbing, he thinks, though he's less focused on pulling air into his lungs and more intent on getting away and hiding and giving in to the panic that was threatening to consume him. God, he was an idiot, why did he think it would be a good idea skip glee and go to the park for some quiet contemplation about why people at school were so dead set on making his life a living-

He stumbled, swearing loudly, voice hitching between violent sobs. His shoulders shuddered as he looked around wildly for somewhere to justhide and what he would give right now for the ability to make himself invisible and just get away, away, away. He knew they were still after him – We're gonna find you, fag! - and he knew there was no way in hell he could allow that to happen.

Was he even still breathing? His lungs were burning and for one wild moment, Kurt thought that perhaps he'd die before they caught him and wouldn't that just be the icing on a very large, bitter cake. He briefly wondered whether it would hurt more from suffocating or having his head kicked in because this hurt quite a lot, though he was already injured from the altercation earlier with the Neanderthals currently hunting him, so he couldn't put it all down to the fact that he was unable to breathe, or see, for that matter, his eyes being so blurry from tears as they were.

He huffed and sniffed, scrubbing wildly at his eyes. He had to find somewhere to hide, he had to get away and maybe if it was a good enough hiding spot he could just stay there forever and not have to deal with other people ever again. But there was nowhere to hide, just endless trees and nothing, nothing, nothing.

And then, something.

Kurt felt his breath catch suddenly, staring in bewilderment at the thing that was completely out of place within the clashing of greens and browns. A box. A blue box sitting in the middle of the trees, big letters announcing "POLICE" written on the top of it. A blue box with "POLICE" written on it that hadn't been there before, Kurt was sure of it. How in the hell would he have missed something like this? Other than being unable to see or breathe or- forget it.

His nose wrinkled as he wiped at it, frowning at the crimson stain left behind on his hand. Still bleeding then, and actually, now that he'd stopped for a little bit and allowed himself to get past the whole breathing issue he realised that his ribs hurt or, well, all of him hurt. His chest hurt from the exertion, his head hurt from trying to hold back a full blown panic attack and his feet hurt because, well, what a day to pick to break in some new boots.

This was ridiculous. He was all for flying solo, but these jerks would likely kill him if they caught him again. Kurt was moving before he even realised, hands scrabbling on the dirty floor as he stumbled clumsily to his feet, swiftly crossing the gap to the strange object.

With shaking hands, he reached for the handle of what seemed to be a small compartment on the outside, his heart thudding quickly at the promise of rescue. They had to leave him alone if he got the police involved, right? Even if the police couldn't do anything, it would make them back off until the next time and that was good enough right now. He lifted the receiver, cringing and looking around at the sudden; "You can't hide forever, homo!" that sounded far too close for comfort.

Nothing but silence.

"No, please!" He gasped, panic brewing again at the lack of a dial tone.

He spun the dial on the handset, hitting the side of the telephone with a muffled, desperate sob, trying to connect with someone – anyone – but there was still nothing, only silence, and the taunting of the jocks that was getting ever louder. Kurt dropped the receiver back into its holder with a quiet cry of defeat, slumping backwards against the wooden doors of the strange blue box. He gazed unhappily into the forest, trying not to think of how much it would hurt when they finally reached him.

Later, Kurt would leave out the high pitched squeak he let out as the door behind him suddenly unlatched and opened, causing his arms to windmill as he fell backwards into – into – This wasn't a blue box, this was a -

He turned slowly onto his stomach, and then his knees, mouth slack in pure shock. He had to have hit his head, that was the only possible explanation because this was – this was just – He wasn't breathing again, he realised dimly, staring upwards at a tall column in the centre of a circular panel full of all sorts of buttons and switches.

Kurt stood abruptly, ignoring the flare of pain in his ribs as he scrabbled backwards out of the door, deaf and blind to all except this thing, this.. He had to have missed something, he thought desperately, stumbling over himself as he circled the box, trailing one hand lightly over the weathered blue wood, as if he was physically marking the boundaries that it sat on.

But that was it. Just a box. Just a blue box, sitting in the middle of the forest, with a room ten times the size of the outside, on the inside.

He stood frozen for a moment, before a shout of; "Fuck! Is that him? Over here!" met his ears, and then he was moving, inside, slamming the door closed behind him and, when he couldn't find a lock or anything, backing away to find somewhere to hide because he could hear them now, right outside, and oh, fuck, they must have seen him. They had to have seen him and it didn't matter that this box was impossible or that it was likely he was still out there in the forest and he'd just lost it completely or had been found and already kicked into oblivion and this was all in his head to help him through the trauma, he had to get away.

"Please," He gasped brokenly, all but throwing himself at the space underneath the clear walkway that the circular console sat on. "Please, please, please." He chanted as he curled into as tight a ball as he could manage with the vicious twinging of his ribs and pressed himself against the nearest wall. It warmed a little as he pressed against it, almost trying to push himself through the panelling, but it was metal and metal conducts heat, so that wasn't unusual. Even if it was the entire panel that was warming to a comforting heat and not just the part he was touching.

"Hey homo, you hiding in here?" He heard, "The police ain't coming for you!" They were laughing now, loudly, and Kurt pushed a fist against his mouth as if this could make him disappear, trying to stay quiet, big, horrible tears streaming down his face as he stared at the closed doors of the box.

Unfortunately, he let out a startled yelp as the door suddenly thundered back and forth, like someone was trying to force their way in, which was probably exactly what was happening. Once again, pushing himself backwards against the wall, bracing himself for the sudden rain of kicks and punches and taunts, one hand slapped firmly over his mouth to withhold any further position revealing noises.

And then, suddenly: "It's locked man, Hummel ain't here."

… Locked? That wasn't possible, though why finding himself sat in a small blue box, that was bigger on the inside was any more likely that a door that locked itself, Kurt didn't know. He winced as they tried the door again, a thought that if they couldn't get in, he couldn't get out flashing briefly through his mind, but really he was too relieved that he wasn't being pounded into dust to care.

"Let's try this way," He heard, the jocks having decided the strange, blue box wasn't worth bothering with. "I saw him man, I swear. He's got to be around here somewhere." And then they were gone.

They were gone. They were gone and he was safe, albeit possibly trapped in the impossible box. Kurt could've cried. In fact, he was crying. Deep, ugly, breathy sobs that made his shoulders shake and he had never, never, never hated himself more than he did in that moment.