A/N: Written for who_contest over at Livejournal.

Prompt: Superstition

Where Are You, Raggedy Man?

.

She is seven when it starts.

There is a crack in her bedroom wall that no one but Santa can help fix. She kneels by her bed, eyes screwed shut, and prays for someone to come over and fix the crack so that the voices that whisper in the night would stop. Her aunt thinks it's just a silly crack, intended to be ignored and then forgotten.

It's what happens to walls, Amelia. It's nothing special; it's ordinary.

But, Amelia Pond knows better.

She prays for someone—anyone—a policeman, to come take a look, and before long a box falls from the sky, a man falls out of the box, and her prayers are answered.

He is all gangly limbs, bright green eyes and floppy hair, and she can't help but watch him—this Doctor from a police box, who doesn't look like a normal policeman and doesn't act like a normal doctor—because Santa clearly has a sense of humour.

He doesn't like apples, or yogurt, or beans, not even bacon (who doesn't like bacon?); he makes her cook and he breaks a dish with a slice of buttered bread because it might have looked at him funny. She has been warned against letting strangers into the house, but the Doctor is far from a stranger and more of someone who is pretty much odd. Her aunt hadn't told her anything about not letting odd people into the house.

"Amelia Pond," he says with a wide grin as he eats fish fingers and custard, while making her think this is all so very completely normal, "like a name in a fairy tale." She smiles because he makes her name sound lovely. She likes her name a little bit more every time he says it.

He's funny, this man, doing things that look silly, but he fixes the crack in her wall and all she can think about is going back to her bed and praying to Santa in thanks.

Then he tells her that he has a time machine; a time machine that can take her away from her aunt while he, the twitchy man who keeps bumping into things, would take her to see the stars. He says to give him five minutes and she believes him.

She watches him disappear, packs a small suitcase and sits in the backyard as she waits for him to take her.

She spends five minutes waiting. She spends another five minutes thinking about the adventures they will have. She spends the next five minutes a little bit worried.

It never occurs to her that he might never come back. He was a doctor in a police box, maybe five minutes to him meant something different to her.

The cold starts to seep in a little while later and she rocks back and forth to keep herself warm. She starts counting the stars, remembering her lessons that each star is a planet (just maybe he is on one of those planets and he is coming back any minute).

He said five minutes. He said he was coming back. Amelia Pond believes him because he said he would fix the crack in her wall and he did just that. He wouldn't lie to her, would he? He wouldn't leave her when he said he would take her away. He wasn't like that. He wasn't a liar.

When she loses count for the fifth time and she feels her eyes droop tiredly, she clasps her hands together and prays to Santa for one more thing, ending her prayer with five short words.

"Where are you, Raggedy Man?"

Her aunt doesn't believe her. No one believes her.

(Rory doesn't count—he believes whatever she says).

She is taken to the local pastor who sits her down and tries to explain that there is no such thing as time travel. He tells her that she has an overactive imagination. He tells her aunt that she might benefit if she comes to church once in a while.

But, the Raggedy Man does exist and Amelia knows it.

She kneels near her bed, hands clasped and eyes closed the way she was the day before and prays to Santa to send him back.

She does everything the way she did when he fell from the sky and she ends the prayer with one final question that is whispered into her fist so that no one but Santa can hear:

"Where are you, Raggedy Man?"

She is introduced to Dr Andrew Bertrand. He is friendly enough, a doctor who makes her draw pictures and tell him stories about her aunt. She visits him weekly after school, choosing to sit on the floor on the plush carpet rather than the chair he offers her. She likes to trace her finger along the edge of the carpet when he talks. It is so very blue.

"Amelia?" he asks her gently, his glasses falling onto the tip of his nose. "Do you still pray to Santa?"

She nods as her eyes stay on the blue of the carpet. She doesn't like to talk about Santa much. It has been several months and he hasn't answered any of her prayers.

"Every day?" Dr Bertrand asks her.

She nods again, thinking about how the police box disappeared from her back yard that night.

"What do you pray for?"

She doesn't say anything, and he keeps asking.

"Do you pray for the Raggedy Doctor to come back?"

Her head barely twitches with a nod. She doesn't want to talk about this.

"Do you still count the stars?"

She nods carefully. Her aunt told her that she is mad to do that. The stars are numerous. No one can know how many there are. Amelia thinks that the Raggedy Doctor might know. He seems to know everything.

A small sigh escapes the doctor before he slips off his seat to sit next to her on the carpet. He pulls out something from behind him and she immediately stiffens. "Where did you get that?"

He holds the small police box she had built with old newspapers. It's not painted yet. Her aunt was told not to give her any royal blue paint.

"You know that you're not supposed to make these," he tells her. "Your aunt found it in your room. You were hiding it from her."

She tries to reach for it and he pulls it back just a little.

"You must understand, Amelia. We are trying to help you. There is no Raggedy Doctor. There is no time machine. You were dreaming."

"I wasn't!"

"You were."

He's holding onto the police box too tightly. She sees a dent forming on the bottom where his thumb is pressing into the paper.

"You have to take this apart."

"No." She shakes her head. "I won't." One day the Doctor will return and she will show it to him. He will laugh as he tosses it in the air. He will call her brilliant.

"Then, I'm sorry, but I have to do this for you."

She acts without thinking, because she can't lose the police box she had spent weeks trying to make perfectly, and her aunt is called in to collect her early.

She meets her newest doctor the following week with a fair warning that she bites.

She still spends her nights praying to Santa, because some part of her thinks that if she doesn't think about the Raggedy Doctor, if she doesn't remember him, he won't come back. Before she sleeps she counts the stars and whispers those five small words:

"Where are you, Raggedy Man?"

She is nine when Billy Sanders tells everyone that there isn't a Santa Claus. Amelia doesn't believe him and is punished for hitting him in the face.

There she meets Mels, the class delinquent, as she swings her legs happily without a care in the world.

"What are you in for?" she asks Amelia, her head cocking to the side.

"I hit Billy," Amelia says, somewhat embarrassed.

Mels laughs loudly, hooting in a way that makes Amelia smile despite the trouble she is in. "Never liked him," Mels says. "He has a funny face. I would punch him in the face myself, to be honest."

"I didn't punch him," Amelia says carefully.

"What? You lightly touched him and he screamed murder?" Mels asks her mockingly. "I don't believe you, Amy."

"Amelia. My name is Amelia."

"Is it now?" She leans forward, her eyes studying Amelia from head to toe. "You look like an Amy to me." She then leans back, crossing her legs the way grown-ups do as she flicks her chin at her. "Why did poor ol' Billy get socked?"

Amelia tells her the story of Santa and the Doctor haltingly, and is surprised when Mels wants to know more. She is further surprised when Mels believes her.

"Tell you what, Amy—"

"Amelia."

Mels grins, a feline smirk that Amelia knows she shouldn't trust, playing on her lips. "I'll be friends with you if you promise to name your daughter after me."

"What?" Amelia laughs, almost choking on the word.

"I have a legacy to pass on, but I don't want children myself. My real name is Melody, by the way. Isn't that a lovely name for a girl?"

Amelia hesitates. "I guess…"

"It is! Trust me!" Mels holds out her hand and looks at Amelia expectantly. "Deal?"

Amelia stares at the girl for a moment, knowing that, because of the Raggedy Doctor, she has lost all of her friends.

(Rory doesn't count—he will always be her friend).

"Okay," Amelia says finally, shaking the girl's hand.

Amelia doesn't regret her decision, because whenever Mels stays over, she kneels beside Amelia's bed with her, praying to Santa for a police box before counting the stars and waiting all night for the return of the Raggedy Doctor.

She even whispers, "Where are you, Raggedy Man?" just as Amelia does, although the way Mels says it, it sounds more like a promise.

The more Mels believes in the Doctor, the less Amelia does. By the time she meets her fourth psychiatrist, she's tired. She's tired of telling the stories and she's tired of the way people eye her when they hear about her imaginary friend. It's a small town she lives in, there is literally nowhere to hide. And the more Mels speaks out about how every world disaster was caused because the Doctor wasn't there to stop it, Amelia looks more and more like the sane one out of the two.

"Amelia…"

She shakes her head, forgetting the distant memory of floppy hair and green eyes as the doctor in front of her smiles at her. Nice lady, wears too much perfume, but hardly anything to complain about.

"You're turning fifteen. Must be exciting."

Amelia smiles. "It is."

"Planning anything special?"

She shrugs. "The usual. Mels and Rory are taking me stargazing. It's our tradition. We like looking at constellations."

The doctor nods. "How long has it been now, since you have stopped counting the stars?"

Amelia stiffens for a moment, her breath hitching. "Dunno. A few months, maybe. Why?"

"Just thought I'd ask," the doctor says with a kind smile. "I think you have made wonderful progress. In fact, I intend to recommend to your aunt that you stop these sessions after next week."

Amelia stares at her incredulously for a moment, her heart beating a medley in her chest. "Really?" she finally asks, a genuine grin forming across her lips. "You'll let me stop?"

The nod from her psychiatrist is all Amelia needs before she launches herself at her doctor and hugs her tight.

That night, they celebrate her release from the prison of an insanity label with liquor provided by Mels. Amelia and Rory learned long ago never to ask where she got things from. It is better not knowing.

"Here's to you and the doctors you fooled, Amy," Mels says brightly as she raises her champagne glass.

"Amelia," Rory says automatically as he raises his own. That's what they do. Mels calls her 'Amy' and Rory corrects her (bless him).

But, Amelia Pond, the name meant for a fairy tale is too much to consider. "No," she says quietly with a gentle shake of her head. "Amy. I would like to be called Amy."

"You're joking." Rory scoffs as he nearly drops his glass in surprise, while Mels grins happily. "Your name is Amelia."

"Well, yeah, legally." She downs the champagne from her own glass before grabbing the bottle and filling it once again. "Amelia Pond was a girl who believed in an imaginary friend. She was a dreamer and a little bit mad. Amy Pond is a woman, practical and absolutely bonkers," she says with a grin.

"Yes!" Mels cries happily as Rory's shoulders somewhat deflate. "I'll drink to that."

Amelia—Amy—still goes home early claiming that she is knackered. She hasn't believed in Santa Claus for years, but she still whispers the words that end the prayer, not only at night, but whenever she is alone, more to herself than others.

This night, on her fifteenth birthday, she sits on the edge of her bed and stares at the dolls she had made, the drawings and cartoons of the Doctor holding her hand and taking her on imaginary adventures. She doesn't remember him as she once could. His face is now a blur, her memory fuzzy from all the time that had passed.

She stands up quickly, collecting anything and everything that reminded her of the Doctor and pushes everything into the back of her cupboard. It takes a few minutes, and once she's done, she feels emptier than she thought she would. She must be strong. She can't live in the past. Amy Pond doesn't believe in imaginary friends.

She changes quickly, getting into her nightie and decides not to count the stars even though she did that every single day since she was seven. She decides to stop today, because Amy Pond doesn't count stars.

She gets into bed, lies down a while, and when she doesn't go to sleep straight away because of the guilt inside her chest, she punches the pillow into submission before falling back onto it with an annoyed huff. This is ridiculous! So what if she had done the same thing every day for years? She is better than a ritual. She can stop whenever she wants.

And yet, one and a half hours later, she's still blinking rapidly without feeling tired at all.

Maybe one last time, she thinks. There is no harm with saying it one last time.

She hesitates a moment, her mind bouncing from 'whether she should' to 'whether she shouldn't' before she sighs. "Where are you, Raggedy Man?" she finally whispers into the darkness and waits awhile, her heart beating madly with hope before a few beats later it slows down in disappointment.

And even though a part of her expects silence, it still hurts when he doesn't answer. The ticking of the clock, the only sound in her room, mocks her stupidity.

"You're not coming back, are you?" she mutters sadly to herself, a small, humourless laugh bursting forward as she thought of all the time she had wasted hoping. "You were never gonna come."

For the first time in years, Amy Pond doesn't believe in the Doctor. And somewhere inside her, little Amelia Pond's heart breaks.

Fin.