London bridge is burning down,
burning down, burning down,
London bridge is burning down
My fair lady…

7. Mike Hears the Theme

Mike isn't sure where it is he's waking up, or why he's waking up at all. By all accounts, he shouldn't be. He died. It's true, on some level. He knows it is, but on the other hand, here he is. No aches, no pains, a dull throb is all that's in the back of his head. He knows, instinctively, what that means.

Marionette had fixed him.

Not in the literal sense, though perhaps the mended bones and healed flesh makes this statement more correct than he's willing to amidt, but Mike knows he's going to be feeling phantom pain for the next week. That's the way it always went.

Regardless, he wakes. He sits up—ow, ow, stiff—and he looks around, shocked to see the familiar faces of his friends. Faces he remembered seeing ripped off, or bent up.

"G…guys?" His back snaps when he moves, he can feel each vertebrae kick the other into line. Here he is, moderately and suspiciously alive, and here they are…

Looking just like they had before they'd set foot in those godforsaken place.

"It be alright, lad." Says Foxy, his voice rough and low as if he too, is emotional about their rebirth.

'No, not rebirth.' Mike glanced at the large gift box sitting innocent at his feet. The lid is on, firmly, and it is silent. Repair. The Marionette repaired them, the same thing it had done to Mike.

In exchange for ridding the world of the murderer? Who knew. Marionette rarely spoke and when it did, it wasn't exactly monologing it's schemes. On the one hand, Mike admired that. On the other, it got real fucking old, real fast.

"You're okay, Mikey." And they all sound and look as relieved as he feels, and his heart goes out to them. 'Dorks.' He thinks, because these big AI's are just hopeless and amazing and wonderful all at once.

Well, of course he was okay, that was whatever. It was them he was worried about; worried he'd gone and fucked it up again. That the gang had almost paid for his mistake.

They all must have woken up before him, and all just come to find him. They had some rudimentary form of first aid in their protocols—mostly for kids—but they knew enough to not move his body in case he had a head injury. Crowded round him from head to toe, watching anxiously as he slept and waiting—begging?—for him to open his eyes. The touching action makes his eyes burn, and he laughs so he doesn't sob.

Freddy, though, doesn't buy it. Clever bear.

The leader of the animatronics bends down, hauls Mike up with one arm, and pulls the shorter, skinnier, all-around-breakable-human into a careful hug.

"Had us worried there, son." It's as affectionate as it is lightly reprimanding. Mike nods against Freddy's shoulder, and smiles when he feels the others join in on the awkward crushing of parts around his fleshy body. Hey, they were getting real good at this group-hug thing. He was proud of them.

"Yeah, I uh….sorry. For, for scaring you." Mike mumbles, rubbing the back of his head.

After a moment, the hug breaks. Foxy first, because he's the 'tough' one. Or whatever he wanted his image to be. By proxy, Freddy and Mike are last, and the human stands in the circle of robots and just drinks in the fact they're still there, still towering over him like always.

And the murderer is gone. Mike can feel the weight has been lifted on all their shoulders.

"Can we get out of here?" That's Bonnie, his voice a soft, worried plea in the back of his metal throat. Mike spotted the corpse of Springtrap, the violet bunny was unable to take his optics off its unmoving form, and Mike felt a pang of sympathy.

"C'mon gang. Let's go home."

They follow the security guard up the stairs, taking one small detour to the security room to grab Mike's jacket with his phone. He is careful not to look at the corpse of Jake, but he wishes desperately that could change. It seemed Marionette wasn't giving its gifts to Outsiders.

Needing something to do as they walk down the dreary halls, Mike hauls out his phone.

"It's only two or so in the afternoon. I guess we made it, huh?" He grins, but it's tried. The robots give their own separate answers, except for Chica, who's staring behind them as they come to a stop.

"Chica? You ok?" Bonnie calls.

"Hm? Oh. Yes—I just." She shook her head and walked after them. "Guess I'm hearing things. This old place sure is creepy, even with that…guy…gone." She says delicately.

"Yeah, it is." Mike can only agree.

He leads them all to the side door, the one that will lead them out to where the van is still parked.

His first mistake is being lost in thought. (So much to do: Call the guard of Fazbear's Fright, lock this place up fucking good, did he have time to get something to ear before he made it to I-90?)

And his second mistake was having the robots go before him. In his defense, he was the one with the keys.

As Freddy carried the Marionette's box out into the gray afternoon, Mike had yet to cross the threshold himself.

Then it happened.

Under his palm, the knob jerked. Mike paused, and blinked. It shocked him lightly, jolting him from his concentration.

"Ow!" He leapt back with a hiss, eyes widening as the door swung sharply at him, forcing him to stumble back into the building or risk his nose getting broken.

The last bit of the outer world Mike saw was the animatronics turning with expression of shock and horror at something behind him. Foxy, the second closest, was reaching for him, but it was too late. The sliver of daylight was cut off as the door slammed on him. Darkness threatened to swallow him whole, and Mike felt his heart skip several needed beats. He quickly opened his mouth to shout for the others when he heard it coming. No, felt was a better word.

Shit.

He turned, his blood running cold as the white misty figure storms through the hall at him. The building rumbles, shakes, and darkens violently as the released spirit of the murderer tumbles toward Mike.

THOUGHT I WAS GONE, DIDN'T YOU! The gleeful shriek quite nearly deafens him, to say nothing of the chilling sensation as the ghostly figure of pallid smoke slams into him. God, it's like liquid nitrogen. The hold is forcing its way through his chest, through flesh, bone and organs. All the warmth in his torso abandons him as ice takes over.

Mike screams from the pain, trying to fight the fucker's aura back out of him. But it's crushing his chest, clutching around his heart as he's lifted clear off the ground by the ethereal presence.

Your stupid puppet only let me OUT, you didn't think it the little brat was strong enough to get rid of me, did you?!

"Th…that was the plan, yes…" Mike can't help the smart-ass answer. For all it gets him, he's slammed into the wall carelessly as the wraith considers the pounding he hears outside the door.

Your friends, how cute. They're trying to rescue you. Too bad for them, I just found my new body. The murderer sniggers softly and puts all its effort into pinning the helpless human against a wall, his sneaker dangling inches off the crappy tile.

How does it feel? To know you're about to become the next serial killer at that pizzeria? It will be fun, don't worry. Gloating, the motherfucker was gloating at him.

Mike rasped uselessly as long fingers coiled round his throat again. Only this time, there's nothing for him to scrabble at, no way to free himself from this invisible, deadly hold. He still tries, of course, trying to fight the impromptu possession that's taking place. The ghost was trying to force itself into the Mike's mouth and down his throat, at the same time also trying to wedge into his ribcage.

He knows if he lets it happen, he'll never see the light of day again. But Freddy, and the others are outside, hammering futilely on the door. Marionette was with them, and he couldn't fight a fucking poltergeist like this.

It's been too long without oxygen, and Mike's struggles are lessoning. If he falls unconscious, the murderer is going to win. If he dies even without being possessed, the ghost will still haunt the building. If Mike gets free and lets in the animatronics, the murderer might take over one of them, and Mike knows it will be much easier for the sneaky bastard to grab a robot than a human.

Talk about a rock and a hard place.

Just as he feels something giving way inside of him, Mike feels strange. Something in his ribcage pulses. It's tiny. It's faint.

But it's warm.

'Uh-oh.'

"G-great." His last, barely conscious words are a feeble complaint. "Now y-you've…woke him up…"

Mike wondered distantly if this is what Marion wanted all along. Well, minus the bodily harm coming to him—at least he hoped that wasn't included in the plan—but Mike doesn't fight the sudden overwhelming energy that's starting to coat his body. He doesn't have the energy to, not really.

The pulse was getting wider, encompassing his frozen heart and trying to warm it.

'Okay. It's okay.' He thinks, eyes slipping shut, smile fading as blood leaks from his nose. He was gonna lose it, he could feel it now. 'No need to fear what you can't avoid.'

Mike's fists loosened, and he hung limp for a moment. Then his eyes opened, and they were bright gold.

He turned a furious, unMike-like gaze down at the wraith and gnashed his teeth until the monster released him. Despite being freed, the form of the night guard did not drop, but merely floated limply in place. Licks of electricity, golden-white in color and blazing hot, flickered this way and that around the man's eyes and head, though it wasn't Mike in the driver's seat anymore.

Mike lips parted mechanically, and stayed still as a deep voice boomed from the back of his throat.

"Whassamatter, ole 'buddy." Golden Freddy shot contemptuously at the shying form of the murderer. "Ya lookin surprised to see me."

You—what are you doing here!? You're going to ruin EVERYTHING! With a shriek, the wraith pushed off Mike's body and tumbled backwards, trying to get space between him and his advancing counterpart.

Golden laughs and it's horrifying and deep. The rage is barely filtered through it, and already Mike's body is starting to flicker in and out of reality. In its place is the faint outline of a golden, decayed and beat up suit. The old model of Freddy Fazbear hits the ground, and the ground shudders.

You shouldn't exist! The ghost hisses suddenly, turning a livid gaze at the almost solid bear.

"Told you I'd be back." Golden just reminds, mocking.

This isn't fair! The spirit howls, white mass fluttering against the walls.

"What? It isn't? Why, it's the same as you, buddy." Golden spits darkly, then grins dangerously. "The puppet picked a good suit for me. Little Mikey let me take over, in fact." Everything is in place now. Golden Freddy lumbers forward, calm and even now.

"On the guarantee I take care of you, of course." Golden growls, and that's the only warning the murderer gets before the illusion lunges.

His punch comes right under the ghost in a jabbing upper cut—and it connects and it sends the wraith FLYING, body flickering unstably.

Now it's ghost fighting ghost, and the odds are in the favor of the one who just woke up, who hasn't been exerting energy already.

Golden Freddy's eyes gleam from the darkness of the old building, the hulking bear stomping forward. Mike's body was completely gone, the illusion wrapped so tightly over the human body, it was like he wasn't even there at all.

Sparks flit and fly all around, golden streams of electrical discharge lance through the air as the animatronic spirit volleys attack after attack. His power seems bottomless, when in fact it's coming from the deep well of a place the murderer could never comprehend.

This kid he's housed in, the security guard, he had a lot of spirit in him.

The spirit of Golden Freddy not included, of course.

All of Mike's desires, wishes and human-will funnel into the illusion and keep Golden Freddy on his feet and powered. Mike hadn't been lying when he said humans were a persistent bunch. All of Mike's mental will was going into making sure that bastard couldn't hurt anyone ever again, and Golden intended to pick up the slack where Mike couldn't. That was the deal.

The spirits are so focused on battling on another; they do not notice the poor ventilation combined with Freddy's unstable essence has caused sparks of fire to leap to life. Smoke fills the ceiling. Tongues of fire climb the walls, devouring anything it can find.

Still, they do not notice.

It's at that moment; there is a dim realization from the murderer. That perhaps, quite possibly, he is not going to win this one.

Maybe if he was still housed in Springtrap, if he still had a solid body to tie his soul to, like Golden had with the damn security guard, maybe he would stand a chance.

"This isn't fair—this isn't fair!" The spirit screeches angrily, the unholy noise echoing through the halls, rattling Mike's bones. He isn't aware of that though, his body only a vessel and his brain shut down for the time being.

Golden Freddy only staggered forward, grasping the fleeing remains of the murderer and clutching tight. Bolts of hot white electrically energy flit from his massive grip. The illusion is relentless in its offense, cutting the spirit off at every conceivable path, ripping bits and pieces of it away methodically and patiently.

Golden Freddy had waited a very, very long time to do this.

It's worth doing it slowly to make the pain drag out.

Finally, when there is only a small piece of the spirit left, Golden Freddy is ready for the final blow.

"Let go of me—let go of me! You brat, you're fucking dead for this—" A fighter to the end.

"Been dead. But I earn my keep, you traitor."

In one smooth motion, the animatronic bear's jaws come chomping down onto the final slip of ghostly aura. The piece cracks in half, the spirit's calls fade, and dwindle off into the wind.

The only noise that's left is the creaking of Golden Freddy, and the crackling of the fire around it. Pausing to observe the fire inquisitively, (it had been a long time since he could remember seeing such a thing,) Golden quickly recalls it's only borrowing this body, and immediately notices the feeble other side of their strange little connection trying to rise to the surface.

"Right, well. Thanks, Schmidt." He says gruffly, not sure if the kid can hear him, but he means it. Eyeing the fire, Golden Freddy got as far from it as possible, ending up by the door.

"Your turn." Is what he uses to call the human's soul out.

Mike opens his eyes, sucking in lungfuls of air and immediately wished he hadn't.

He chokes on the smog, thick and black and obscuring his vision. But not his hearing.

There's the sound of wood giving way in loud splinters and cracks, and he turns blearily to see Freddy had broken the fucking door down, and he and Foxy are storming in. Their eyes are frightened little pinpricks, and he coughs out their names. It works, miraculously, and Mike finds himself grabbed and hauled safely out of the burning building. Behind him, the ceiling begins to cave, and he's brought into the gray light and toward the shelter of the van.

"We need to—" Coughing, "Need to—call the—" Still coughing. Bonnie thumps him worriedly on the back. "Fire department! C…can't just, just l-leave."

There's grumbles all around at that, but they allow it. The animatonics just form a tight circle as if they fear the spirit of the murderer is going to come out to get at Mike again.

He promises them, (as soon as he can string more than two words together,) that that isn't going to happen.

He doesn't say how.

Marionette once said the Golden Freddy coveted privacy, and Mike owed him big anyway.

Then he calls 911, giving the street address of dilapidated old building. The fire is dying as strangely and quickly as it had come, and there's nothing around this creepy old place. He isn't worried about the fire jumping, but he is worried about the fact an entire building just collapsed before him.

On Springtrap, too, he realizes numbly.

He takes shelter behind Freddy to avoid ashes and debris, and catches his breath a little more.

Sinking to sit on the big step of the van, Mike holds his face in his hands and just focuses on living. It's always a struggle after he's been in control, and this time is no different. Though it's only the second third it's happened, the strange switch he and Golden do will never sit right with Mike.

Mike pulls the present box into his lap and sits there with it, taking comfort in its weight and familiarity.

Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy all loiter around him, each thinking their own thoughts. Mike doesn't know about what. But he doesn't have time to mend those wounds now, as much as he wants to. Hell, he can't even fix himself, for that matter.

The clawing sensation pushes into the back of his mind. Mike is prepared for Marionette's voice, but only in the way that comes from being simply too exhausted to give a shit.

'You are the Night Guard. It is your job.' A pause. 'And you do it well.'

Mike sent a weary 'thanks' back. He wondered how well he could keep the bitter emotion to himself, and it turned out not so well. The Marionette answered his silence with a faint but firm:

'That man was a mistake. A mistake Springtrap and the others paid for. With their very lives. If I feared the past, then I wouldn't have chosen another night guard. But I did. The fact Golden Freddy is as strong is he is, is poof of your soul.'

Mike blinked, staring with unfocused eyes into the dying smoke of the fire.

'If you cannot trust yourself, Night Guard, then trust me.'

Like that, the Marionette withdrew from Mike's mind, and he was alone with his thoughts. Well, maybe not entirely alone, because he recalled the heavy honey-golden weight that had appeared just before he Switched. Was Golden Freddy listening, even now? Mike couldn't be sure.

He thanks him anyway.

"Now what?" Bonnie asked quietly.

Mike, still looking at the skeletal remains of Fazebear's Fright, said nothing for a moment. His expression was grim, determined. The fire that had sprouted and died in the horror attraction seemed to have taken up residence in the night guard's eyes. All the animatronics notice, and they look mildly proud. Freddy most of all.

"We go home." Mike says, turning. "We go home, and we remember to smile. It's over, guys.

We made it." It was only another bridge burnt, after all.

From here, they could only begin to heal.

Sitting in the driver's seat, Mike double checks everyone is in their place before he pushed the key into the ignition.

Beside him a soft, twinkling tune plays lightly from the depth of the present box. Mike recognizes it immediately, smiles tiredly and hums along as he starts the engine. Every so often, he lets himself sing the lyrics.

"London bridge is falling down…"

The bus pushes onto the road, pointed toward the sunset, and the pizzeria. The smoking corpse of a misplaced horror attraction, an unlucky animatronic and the memory of a foul, disturbing killer are left behind in the dust and the gloom.

"My fair lady…"

FIN

The title of this chapter is a reference to Psych: The Musical. The very last song, where the story climaxes and subsequently ends, is called 'Shawn Hears the Theme.' It refers, of course, to the end of the chapter where Mike…well, hears the theme.

Also the song, London Bridge, was used for a theory that existed about it. The theory is that the song refers to the burying, perhaps alive, of children in the foundations of the bridge. This was based around the concept that a bridge would collapse unless the body of a human sacrifice were buried in its foundations and that the watchman is actually a human sacrifice, who will then watch over the bridge.

Reminds you of someone and their job, doesn't it? While I am still undecided, I am leaning tentatively toward a sequel.