Yeah…so… * ducks possible airborne pillows or other, sharper items * …I'm back. And I actually updated! See!

I am sorry about the long wait. There're lots of lousy excuses I could give, as well as one or two good ones, but I won't go into all that. Suffice it to say that I promised I would finish this fic and I will – I'm just not going to make any guarantees about precisely when that will be. However, I do have the whole thing in mind; it's just a question of actually doing the characters justice.

I owe a big huge thank you to everybody who believed in this fic, who reviewed it, and who challenged me to continue it. Everybody who made me want to continue this story – you're the reason inspiration came back to me, and I thereby dedicate the rest of the fic to you.

One thing I would like to clarify with this chapter is that this, like the previous Tim-centric section, begins well before the other events in the story. We're jumping around in the timeline, from the present with Gear and Static and their current difficulties, to the time right after the first Big Bang, and back and forth again. By the end of this chapter, we should be all caught up in the present, but until then, I wanted to make sure that everybody knew, in case it isn't evident, why things are playing out the way that they are here.

I still don't own Static Shock or any associated characters. That has not changed in my long hiatus, sadly enough. I only own Seraph and Tim, and anybody who wants to borrow them is welcome, but please get my permission first. I don't own "Forest Gump" either, in case you were not sure who owned the movie. Sadly, not me. This is not for profit, just for fun.

Now returning to your sporadically-scheduled programming…

School had been, as it always was now, an unmitigated disaster.

"Freak!"

"Look at him! What kinda kid is he, anyway?"

"Think he's a Bang Baby?" "No way, they all get cool powers, not like him."

"Just give him room. You don't want whatever he's got or you could end up like that, too!"

The words echoed in his mind as Tim shuffled down the sidewalk, bitterly biting the insides of his cheeks against the urge to react. He knew from long experience that showing fear or pain or any more weakness than usual would only make the taunting worse. But his active mind circled wildly with repressed fury and shame.

"They're just…horrible! How can they claim to be people of God, praying before games or wearing those crosses in class and still say those things to me? And how come mom decided to send me back to public school anyway? I know money's tight but…there must have been something we could have done!" Tim's heart ached for the private school which had accommodated his disabilities for so long. The small, expensive, religious school that his mother could no longer afford on a single salary in a crumbling economy. The worse it got in Dakota, the worse it got in Tim's life.

"Watch it, freak!" suddenly rang out from behind. Tim tried to turn, but one wheel of his walker caught in a crack in the concrete. As he struggled with it, he heard another voice shout, "Look out!" Without warning, he felt himself pulled from the side and upended. His glasses fell away and the world became a confusing muddle of colors and light and harsh laughter from somewhere. There was a moment when he felt airborne, and then a thump on something soft.

"Are you okay?" a breathless voice asked. Tim blinked, squinting and trying to reorient himself. "Sorry, betcha can't see without these, huh? I know I'm blind without mine." A hand pressed familiar glasses against his fingers.

"Yeah. What happened?" he asked as he donned the frames and took stock of the situation. He was sitting on the grass a few feet from the sidewalk, his walker beside him. Looking down the road, he could see the vanishing figures of one of the groups of punk kids who tended to flock together on their skateboards, regularly stampeding anybody not quick enough to dodge them.

"Well, I'd say you were nearly flat," came a wry response. Tim looked to his rescuer to see a blonde boy about his own age, maybe a year older, indeed sporting glasses of his own. "Jerks on wheels," he said disparagingly.

"Thanks. They'd've run me over if you hadn't grabbed me," Tim said gratefully.

"Don't worry about it. Us guys in glasses gotta stick together, right? You're new, aren't you? I think you've got a class in the science room the period before me. I'm Richie."

"Richie! Where'd you go, man?" called another voice.

"Over here, V!" Richie called back. "Just doin' my good dead for the day."

"Yeah. I'm new. And I'm Tim." His words came out both shy and a little bitter.

"And I'm Virgil. So what happened?" asked the dark-skinned boy who had rounded the corner, smiling expectantly.

"Oh, the usual. Saving the innocent bystander from the gang of thugs, you know," Richie said, winking.

"Yeah, you're a regular hero, Rich," Virgil said, a laugh behind his eyes.

"Somebody ought to do something about them," Tim gestured towards the disappearing group who had nearly taken out two girls several blocks down.

"Yeah…maybe somebody will," Virgil replied speculatively. Tim opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Richie cleared his throat loudly.

"So you're okay, right? Need a hand?" he asked, turning back to Tim. The rescued boy was almost about to refuse – Tim hated that he needed so much help and avoided accepting it whenever possible – but something in Richie's friendly face decided him. It took Richie and Virgil just a moment between them to get him upright and safely leaning on his walker again.

"Got a ride home?" Virgil asked. "We'll walk with you if you want. There's a lot more idiots than those guys on the streets, and you may not always have some friendly neighborhood upper-classmen to back you up."

"No, I'm fine," Tim lied easily. In point of fact, he was stuck taking public transportation home, but he couldn't quite bring himself to ask any more of the two who had gone out of their way for him already. Being escorted home would be far more embarrassing than Tim was willing to endure. "My mom should be here in a minute."

"All right then," Richie smiled even as he glanced at his watch. "We'd hang with you, but we've got…homework to do, right V?"

"Yeah. Stay cool, Tim," Virgil waved.

As the two turned to head in the opposite direction, Tim sighed. He would have bet anything that neither Virgil nor Richie had any idea what it was like being so different and hated. But they had been kind, and he was grateful for it.

"God, please bless those two for the good work they do in the world. They are definitely your agents, I can tell, because they care about people. Please help them in all they do against the people who are not working in your name and by your will."

--==OOO==--

Several weeks later, Timothy once again remembered the kindness of the two who had gone out of their way to look after him when he was in need. They had joked about being heroes, but really, they had been heroes to Tim, especially Richie. And he could certainly use a hero's help right then!

"Here's your stop!" the young man laughed as she gave one final push.

"Run, Forest! Run!" shouted a girl as the door hissed shut behind him.

Tim stumbled forward, looking around bewilderedly as he braced himself on the walker. Why was he cursed to be the one who apparently screamed "helpless target!" to every less-than-angelic teenager in Dakota? This time it was on the bus that he'd been accosted, and it was only by virtue of the fact that the bus driver was large and apparently not deaf that had saved him from an actual beating by a group of at least six gang-banger-wanna-bes. However, that did not stop the ruthless teens from forcing Tim to miss his stop and instead "helping" him off the bus in a completely unfamiliar location several miles down the line. Now, as the afternoon was waning and the first shadows of dusk were beginning to creep, Tim felt his heart skip a beat.

"What am I going to do? How will I get home from here?" he moaned. He supposed he could stay right where he was and wait for another bus to pass, but what if it didn't? What if that was the last run of the day to…wherever he was? Some industrial part of the city that looked more abandoned than anything else. This was exactly the kind of place he knew he should avoid if he didn't want to end up a statistic.

"God, deliver me from evil," he whispered fervently. Craning his neck, Tim caught sight of the tip-top of a familiar building, one of the few in downtown that stuck up high enough to be seen from this far away. He was a pretty good distance from the parts of Dakota he knew, but at least he had an idea of which direction to go. Deciding to stick to main roads in the hope of another bus, Tim set off, praying every step of the way. There was nothing to do but begin the walk, and hope he ended it in one piece.

"Please let me get home safely. Please let these paths not lead me through shadow and danger. Please let there not be any Bang Babies around."

Sighing deeply, Tim felt himself grow cold inside again. He was a Bang Baby too, after all, much as he hated it. And, worse than being another kind of freak, unlike all the Babies who ended up on the news, he had no idea how to control his abilities. Tim knew, both from his experience with his mother and one other accident at a bookstore since then, that his gift was simple, yet miraculous: he possessed the power to take any physical state of his own, from his less-than-functional legs and poor eyesight to something as small as a paper-cut, and transfer it to another person, trading their good legs and eyes for his poor ones. He had caused his mother to fall, had caused a clerk to receive a cut from thin air, and had at the same time been free of those conditions himself. But the effect was temporary, a short-lived high. And then he was back to being Tim-the-crippled-kid.

"If I could make it happen whenever I wanted," he muttered bitterly, "none of those jerks would ever be able to mess with me again. I'd just fix myself off of one of them and run. Or I'd make them see what it's like to be a freak like me until they left me alone. I'd take God's justice for all those undesirables of the world, show the cruel what cruelty really is.

"But I can't. Somehow it never works when I try," he sighed again. His heart flushed with shame at the idea of taking revenge against someone, no matter how justified. "Maybe the point is that only God can decide when I can use this stupid power. I'm pretty weak; what if I used it for evil? So…I guess I'll have to trust that it's for the best this way. Whatever I can do, I guess it belongs to God instead of me."

"Oh, but it does belong to you," came a voice, deep and warm.

"Who's there?" Tim demanded, stopping in his tracks. He was between two large train-yards, divided by the main road, and there was no one in sight.

"You're…a loyal servant, aren't you? Speaking to God when you're alone in such a place? Trusting in God that all you can do must be part of a greater plan?"

"I…yes," Tim said hesitantly.

"Good. Perhaps, then, it is time for you to begin to learn what that plan is." There was a sudden burst of bright light, and then a figure appeared from seemingly nowhere. His face was starkly noble, and he carried himself with pride and grace. But it was his wings, oh, the gloriously beautiful wings that stood out against the now-setting sun alight with color and glowing from within that took Tim's breath away.

"Are…are you an angel?" he asked, longing in his voice. But even as he spoke the words, something in Tim's heart caught him. Even awed and cowed by the figure before him, he felt no wonder of God washing over him, sensed no holiness in the air. Before receiving an answer, he already knew the truth.

"Not of the heavens, but I am a creature of God's own making, as are you. Do you have a name?" he asked.

"I'm Tim."

"Timothy. A good name indeed. I am Seraph. And I can see that you are a believer. But are you a believer with the power to fulfill a call to God's service? Will you follow me and your God down a path of righteousness?"

Tim took a deep breath and tried to get his knees to stop shaking. He felt overwhelmed, confused. This was straight out of a dream, this encounter with a creation certainly wonderful if not abjectly sacred. And to be addressed so politely even on the heels of his mistreatment by his peers warmed and comforted him. For someone so lonely, basic kindness went a long way, and Seraph had already been more human to him than anyone since Richie and Virgil several weeks before. Tim's usual hesitancy and stubborn streak felt themselves melting before Seraph as snow in July as his defenses fell.

"I…I'm a Bang Baby," he admitted fearfully. "But I don't know how to control my powers."

"Indeed. Perhaps it is merely a question of the correct motivation, then. But I warn you, Timothy, that I will suffer no fools nor weak ones in my great work. Prove yourself to me, and I will permit you to join me. Fail to do so, and I will strike you down, for none can lay eyes upon me and tell of what they have seen."

"What? What kind of test is that?" Tim demanded in sudden fear. "Are we talking about the work of God's justice or are you talking about hurting people? Because I won't help you with hurting others! It's wrong!"

"Justice involves pain. You know this. Now, prove yourself to me and to your God!"

A heartbeat of silence passed, and then Seraph stepped forward. He moved slowly, deliberately, bearing down on the boy with absolute menace. Tim felt terror in his heart, the terror of years of bullying, the terror of years of helplessness, the terror of failure and of being unworthy. That fear gathered within him, turned into a hard, cold ball inside. Seraph reached for him, his hands glowing dangerously.

"No! Stay back! God, help me!"

There was a rushing in his ears and then a strangled cry. Tim opened his eyes cautiously, unaware that he had closed them in fear. His hand was outstretched, and he was standing completely unaided.

Seraph, meanwhile, had crumpled to his knees before the boy, and was breathing heavily. His wings drooped, as though the life had gone out of them, and the angelic face was twisted in agony.

"You…have a powerful gift," he gasped around his obvious pain. "You are more than worthy to serve your God. Now release me, for I see in your face that it is only fear that commands your powers. But fear is a betrayal of faith, for it is that which takes us from God, and you must overcome your own. Come. Together, you and I will master your talents and bring your gifts to serve in the name of our great and glorious God."

"I…I don't know," Tim hesitated. Something in his heart felt that things were not right, that Seraph was not what he seemed. But before he got any farther in his thinking, a familiar ache slammed back into his body as his legs once again became twisted and helpless. Born of long practice, he steadied himself against the walker while Seraph regained his feet beside him.

"Ah," the angel breathed, stretching out his wings gratefully and smiling with satisfaction as the light and strength returned to them. "Rare indeed is your gift, Timothy. And rarer still a heart willing to trust in God so completely. Here, let me relieve your fears. I will carry you home, and you may choose for yourself the path you will follow. And whatever you choose, you have earned my loyalty and respect by your faith."

Before Tim could say a word, he felt himself pressed against Seraph's chest, his strong arms holding Tim effortlessly. As the boy gripped his walker with all his strength, Seraph launched into the air. And Tim's heart soared.

Flight. It was…beyond any rush of joy or faith or wonder that he had ever known. This was glory, this was happiness, this was beauty and poetry and everything Tim had never found in his earth-bound existence. If it felt liberating to walk when he exercised his powers, it was pure and unadulterated ecstasy to feel himself wheeling through the sky. As the wind pressed against him, the warmth of Seraph's body beat back any chill that could have overtaken him. Numbly directing the angel to his house, Tim felt tears dribble down his cheeks. This was the freedom that had been denied him all his life.

When the rush ended, a shock more keen than any pain, Tim found himself agreeing to join with Seraph, to train with him, to learn from him. While the voice in his heart warned him to be careful of false gods, Tim instead harkened back to the feeling of flight, the pride in Seraph's face, the impressed smile he had earned, and the knowledge that he had been saved from a long and dangerous walk home.

"This must be God's will, for me to find him. Perhaps we will learn from each other. He's not an angel, but he could be. And…maybe he really does know God's will for me. So I'll leave it up to him to show me the way and we'll see where that takes me. This cannot be an accident or trial; this must be what is meant for me."

--==OOO==--

Months passed like days. Tim's mother noticed a change in her son, but one she could not quite identify. On the one hand, he seemed happier. He spoke now of a friend he called Sam who gave him a ride home every day after school, who evidentially wanted Tim to stay over at his house now and again and who was a true and faithful ally. The confidence Tim had always lacked appeared to be growing around the edges of his fear, and she was grateful for that. But on the other hand, Tim had become more withdrawn, unwilling to let his mother know exactly what he did with Sam all the time or where Sam lived. He never missed school or church, but his attitude towards both gradually changed. School had always been a difficult challenge, but now Tim looked upon it with distain at best, and church, which had always been a refuge, the highlight of both their lives, seemed to lose its meaning. But whenever she asked about it, Tim would give his mother one of his brightest smiles and assure her that all was well. She assumed it was just her little boy growing up, becoming a man with a man's thoughts, and she gave him time to sort it out, albeit with a mother's worry hovering in the background.

In a way, Tim knew, his mother was partially right. He was indeed on his way to becoming a man, but not, perhaps, the way she thought, for it was not only his spirit that was growing strong. Running with the ease of a gazelle, Tim ducked the chain-link fence that blocked the unused train cars from the public and made his way to the boxcar that had become his second home. And if the echo of a cry of pain from a random homeless man echoed in his ears, Tim comforted himself by dismissing his power as quickly as he could, dropping onto the couch at the end of the car with only a twinge of guilty relief.

"Today, Timothy, will be your first true test of yourself," Seraph said. "Today we begin God's work in earnest. You have proven yourself a fine student, and you have truly mastered your gifts. Now we must bring them to bear upon the world in full force."

"Yeah, but…I mean, I don't want to hurt somebody. You know that," he squirmed.

"You hurt no one with your powers. You merely remind them of the grace of God, of the blessing that is health and wholeness. For how can one appreciate the wonders of being able to walk freely unless that wonder is removed for a time?" Seraph eyed Tim meaningfully. "Now we take these lessons a step further. Not only will we remind others to be grateful for what God has given them, but we will also punish the wicked and the sinners for their crimes."

"But, Seraph, there's a difference between doing justice and, you know, punishing people. Punishing is for God to do, isn't it?" Tim pointed out, Bible verses flying through his head.

"We are simply offering a warning. Do we not discipline a child to keep them from the hot stove? The harm you do will frighten more than hurt, and it will perhaps be the saving of their souls. Is that not worth a few moments of…reflection?"

Tim sighed. Somehow, everything Seraph said always made sense. But a part of him was not quite comfortable with it, even though. Of course, they weren't talking about actually killing anybody. This was more like a spanking, really – a reminder of what sin could bring. Wasn't it?

"Towards this end, I have chosen as your target a truly evil den of selfishness and sin, a blot upon the city. And I believe even you, lamb that you are, will approve," and here Seraph snickered at his young apprentice. He had taken to calling Tim a lamb, since the boy was more timid and forgiving than was truly necessary in their work. Tim, for his part, didn't mind the comparison very much.

"What's that?"

"There is a bookstore at the corner of Elm and Fourth Street. Do you know it?"

Tim felt his chest grow suddenly tight and cold. Yes, he knew it. He knew it all too well. That store had provided his father with the books that had been the beginning of the end of everything Tim had cherished. That store, so proud of its own sin and viciousness, was one of the places Tim often prayed would be struck down by God's hand. And now, here, Seraph was encouraging him to be that very instrument of divine justice.

"Go, then. I see in your face that you know what you must do. And…take this with you," Seraph said, pushing a section of pipe, sealed on both ends, into his hands. "If your warning is not heeded, if your words are not heard and the pain of the patrons is not enough, this will be my hand, not yours, calling down the fire of God."

Without looking at it, Tim pushed the pipe carefully into a pocket. He didn't care that he knew full well what the pipe was and what it would do. Sodom and Gomorrah had suffered far worse than the effects of a simple, homemade firebomb. And he would indeed give the sinners a chance; he would give them all a chance first.

"I'll make them repent," he said, anger and pain and his father's face looming before his eyes. "One way or another, I'll make them repent."

--==OOO==--

From his perch above the bookstore which was now merrily burning to the ground, Seraph laughed. Tim had done so well, his powers extending even beyond the shop to the street, causing chaos and fear and panic. Oh, the boy had great potential, the perfect skills to help remake the city however Seraph wanted it!

"As long as I can keep our minds focused on God," and here a sort of giggle broke through as slightly-unhinged glee warmed him inside and out, "Dakota will become our own Eden, all people bowing to me, and I will be Adam and the serpent and the Tree of Life all in one. With Tim to weaken them, to force submission and understanding, and with my holiness to rule, the names of Seraph and God will be spoken with fear and awe by everyone!"

But a moment of clarity winked through his otherwise rejoicing mind, and Seraph quickly brought himself back under control. It would not do to spoil the boy's first triumph by getting caught, especially because the two so-called defenders of Dakota had put in an appearance. Seraph had worked so hard to stay out from under the eyes of Static and Gear, and he would reveal himself in his own time. For now, he retreated to the shadows and beat a hasty retreat. As he moved away, the angel scoffed as the pair rescued the sinners from their well-deserved justice.

"Today, only a few felt the flames of my wrath and justice, but next time, if I see Static or Gear, that will be a sign that they, too, are deserving of holy punishment, and I will know that the time has come for me to enter the city in truth, and to begin the fulfillment of my own destiny!"