No one owns him. Yes, he was introduced to a writer a long time ago. Sure, he was made up in a script. And yeah, there are countless amounts of actors who have played him in the years over. But no one owns him. As soon as those words, words of him, spilled out that writers pin onto the paper, just an idea, just a dream, his soul was freed. As soon as those actors picked up that script, and portrayed him to the world, they knew that he was something more than just a character in a story.
And that girl, twelve and alone in the world, with so much going for her, sat on her couch waiting for her cousin to pick her up and just watching that actor play his part, that girl knew that he was
"What is this, Dad?"
"Doctor Who. It's on the syfy channel, I was watching something earlier. You can change it to whatever you want."
The girl's father handed the remote to her, and she sat there, staring at this interesting Doctor, believing that he was a guardian angel to the blond, Rose. Doctor Who. She remembered that name for days, and she later watched it on her computer, in her room at the dead of night.
That was not a man to be owned. His soul drifted into the stars and gazed the heavens, his many faces light the earth, day by day, warming the surface.
Sure, BBC publishes the TV show. Or syfy. Whatever. But that man's soul will forever be free to roam the imaginations of a million twelve-year-old girls, getting them through the night and day.
There never was a man to be owned. Created or born, his soul runs free.
The Ultimate Disclaimer for Doctor Who.