You sprang up in bed.
You let out a little whine, rubbing your eyes.
Tears slipped out and you looked around in the dark.
You whined again.
The TARDIS seemed to pick up on your distress.
After a hushed noise, she made a small nightlight appear, projecting shining stars throughout your room.
You watched the railing on your toddler bed lower itself.
You wiggled your way onto the cold floor.
The TARDIS made a path for you, allowing you to follow the light-up stars.
You shakily walked along the hall, until you reached the end.
You stood on your toes, trying to grab the knob.
The doorknob turned on its' own, opening a crack.
You smiled small, looking around.
The TARDIS was always looking out for you.
You pushed the door open all the way with a creak.
You watched your father, The Doctor, sleeping in his bed.
He always slept there, sometimes with you at his side.
Tonight was one of the few moments where your parents timeline was aligned.
They were sleeping together, your mother, River Song, curled up against your father's chest.
You made your way to your father's side of the bed.
His arm was hanging off the bed.
You tugged on it.
You saw him twitch.
You tugged it again and you watched him turnover.
He squinted down at you.
"How did you get here?" he groaned, rubbing his face.
You pointed to one of the TARDIS' glowing stars that had helped.
He chuckled.
"Of course she would. What happened?" he asked.
You whined and held your arms up to him.
He stared at you for a minute.
"Bad dream, love?" he questioned.
You simply continued to hold your arms up.
He picked you up and placed you in between himself and your mother.
Your mother woke up and spotted you.
"What's wrong?" she asked, taking one of your hands in hers.
"She had a nightmare," the Doctor said.
Your mother kissed your forehead.
"I didn't hear you get out of bed to get her," she stated.
"I didn't. The TARDIS helped her get here," the Doctor shrugged.
"Did she tell you this?" your mother asked, looking at you.
She was very concerned because she knew you could speak, you had spoken to her many a time, but you didn't do it often.
You actually rarely spoke.
You didn't see the point when you knew that your eyes could speak for you.
"You know she hates to talk," your father sighed.
"I know," your mother nodded.
Your father held you in a hug, while your mother maintained her grip on your hand.
Both sank into the pillow.
You sighed and nestled into the safety of your parents.
You gave a small smile before opening up your mouth.
"Goodnight."
