Thank you again everyone who stayed with me on this. One more chapter to go after this!

This is the chapter I struggled with for so long. I had such a powerful response to Tim that he needed a proper moment of his own before the end. And he'll get another one, trust me, but I think this was important. I hope this has all been worth the wait. There's a bit left, no worries, but I hope this stands worthy of the interest it generated.

Still don't own Static shock. Or 2001: A Space Odyssey or Velcro or anything else in Gear's crazy brain. Never will. Please no with the suing. Very annoying. I do claim Tim and Seraph, though the latter is...not great. He takes up a lot of noisy room in my closet.

Enjoy!

Tim was floating.

It was a little strange, actually. A moment ago he'd been pinned to a wall as if by Velcro. He'd tried to twist away, to get a sense for where Static and Gear might be so he could direct his gift and get himself down, but he couldn't budge. He'd never been good at controlling his powers without at least having a sense for where a person was – and if he guessed wrong, he might get Seraph. So he'd waited, knowing eventually they'd have to let him down and he could act then.

He'd known someone was approaching, but not who or from where. Then there'd been a soft, almost familiar voice.

"Tim, I'm so sorry…"

But that was the end of it. Was he unconscious? Had Gear drugged him? Nothing made sense.

For some reason, an image of his father came to him then, and he felt the usual wash of anger and betrayal. His father was still a sinner, dirty and unforgiveable. He didn't need him here or any other place in his life. He hated him. Tim would rather have been lost in the void than met by that presence or vision or whatever it was. Wasn't that why he'd joined up with Seraph? Because he had to do God's work and stop people like his father?

He felt a strange pang in his chest.

"This is getting weirder," he said or thought to himself – hard to say which. "Where am I, anyway? Maybe I'm dead," he considered idly. "But I don't feel very dead."

Then a bright light flashed before his eyes and Tim felt something warm run through him, making him realize how cold he was. It was as though he'd just fallen into a hot bath and he sighed at the bliss of it.

With nothing else to do but wonder at his circumstances, Tim fell into his habit of talking to God.

"I have to admit, there was something that Gear said that reminded me of what Richie was telling me earlier today. But, this is all Your plan, right? You wouldn't let me do anything wrong, right? I don't think you exactly speak through Seraph, but he's obviously trying to work Your will. That makes it okay, doesn't it?"

But the words came back. You can't do the right thing the wrong way…

"But You rained fire on Sodom and Gomorrah, You punished the wicked when it was called for. And You're not doing it here! So somebody had to step up and take care of it! That's what Seraph's doing!"

And Richie's advice floated through his mind. Maybe you don't have to do whatever you think you have to do. Maybe you aren't even supposed to…

Tim felt the warmth around him completely evaporate. All the certainty he'd held in his heart, warring with the doubt but ultimately overcoming it, seemed to crumble. He'd wondered about Seraph a time or two, but he'd been so glad to do something, anything, to beat the sinners that were everywhere. He'd gone after them and felt okay about it.

Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven.

The words hit him so hard if he'd been anywhere but this floaty blackness, Tim would have fallen. The words were practically written in the air around him. He knew them, knew they came from a passage in Luke. But why? Why here? Why now?

His heart lurched again and the coldness shifted. The darkness grew dim and Tim had just the time to wonder if maybe he had not understood everything he should have.

Then everything vanished and he wondered if he was actually dead.

-==OOO==-

"Waking up in a coffin-sized cave isn't exactly my favorite thing," Richie grumbled to himself, blinking heavily.

In the tiny hollow in the rock, there wasn't much room for him to move exactly, but he could at least stop hovering over Tim and situate himself a bit to one side. He glanced upwards; in the eerily lit area, thanks to Backpack's LED display and emergency headlamps, he confirmed that the robot was still where it had positioned itself – serving as the keystone in the arch of collapsed wall above.

"Good thing I'm a genius," he huffed to himself. It turns out having a super-fast brain with a super-fast connection to a nearly-unbreakable robot was helpful when walls were falling. Even before his reflexes had reacted with fight-or-flight his mind had calculated the weight of the wall, the angle at which it was falling outward, the likelihood of survival, and the precise position to send Backpack that would at least give them a chance at being sheltered in a pocket under the ruble.

But it also meant he realized exactly how bad it was that Tim's breathing had stopped.

"Come on!" Richie pivoted in the tiny space so that he was basically straddling the kid, leaning close enough to his face that his visor should have fogged up if there was any air movement from him.

Nothing.

"Oh no you don't!" With Backpack holding up the ceiling, he couldn't really risk puttering around in the compartments for his assisted-breathing apparatus. Richie's brain seemed to have taken over direct motor control, which gave him a moment to consider. Tim was asthmatic, so rescue breathing wouldn't necessarily help. And even being a genius didn't make someone qualified to try a field tracheotomy.

"Last resort, Gear," he told himself. Moving carefully, he wrapped his arms around Tim and pulled, getting the kid into a sitting position, knowing this would lessen the pressure on his throat. With one hand, he patted Tim's pockets. "Come on. It's got to be here. I know you've got one."

His fingers closed on a small cylinder.

"Yes!" Flipping off the cap, Richie pushed the inhaler into Tim's mouth and gave it two good puffs. After a nervous moment or two, he felt a tiny hitch in the chest against his arm. "Good. Breathe again! Come on!"

Richie didn't even know he was rubbing circles on Tim's back, face so close that now his visor was showing the evidence of air coming and going from his lungs. His knees were crammed into rock and broken supports from the wall and the arm that wasn't supporting Tim's frame and rubbing his back was crushed between them, but he didn't notice. Time had stopped for him – there was only Tim's next breath, and the awful silence before it came.

After what felt like forever but his brain informed him had only been a minute or two, Tim's breathing evened out quite a bit and Richie sighed in relief and allowed himself to sag a bit. A moment later, his eyes fluttered open.

"Hey. It's okay. Just take it easy."

He watched Tim blink in a daze, then seem to recognize what had happened.

"Don't worry, Tim. I'm sorry I didn't find your glasses yet but…"

And then Gear was blind again and his knees collapsed under him as a shock of weakening pain hit him in the thighs. He managed to get his arms up to catch himself on the rock around them, and he wasn't totally blind, not really; still, a fuzzy dim LED-colored blur with almost no definition other than that was less than helpful.

"You! What were you doing! Leave me alone!"

Really? Richie's brain rolled its metaphysical eyes. I try to save his life and he goes at me again anyway? Geez! Gratitude? Ever think of that instead? But he decided not to say any of that. It wouldn't help.

Besides, Tim's voice was more than a little hysterical. He was obviously scared out of his mind.

"Look, you don't have to do this," Gear said, shifting around until his leg wasn't quite so folded under him. "We're stuck here until somebody digs us out. Which, if I know my partner, won't be long. Static's probably freaking out by now."

"It's a miracle I'm alive," Tim seemed to be talking more to himself than his companion in the tiny space, but Gear shook his head anyway.

"Not really. Static dropped the field holding you to the wall as it started to fall. I grabbed you and ducked and Backpack caught enough of the wall to create a space for us. It's just physics and a little bit of titanium armor-plating. Kinetic energy, potential energy, all that jazz."

"You saved me?" Even not being able to see his expression, there was no doubt Tim's face was wide with disbelief.

"Um. Yeah. It's kinda what we do. Superheroes? Heard of 'em?"

"But Seraph said…"

"Maybe you should stop listening to that Playgirl reject and listen to yourself," Gear interrupted. "'Cause I can't think of one thing he's said that has made any amount of sense."

"He says we're doing God's work."

Ah, there was that voice Richie knew better. Tim-the-angry or Tim-the-righteous didn't sit well with him, but Tim-the-uncertain-but-willing-to-listen was his study buddy and this he could handle. Richie's brain was keeping itself busy calculating everything from the exact impairment of Tim's eyes to the precise PSI being put on Backpack with a variety of scenarios for how much wall was really above them. But it was quiet, unobtrusive, like the scrolling bar of updates on a news channel. He could get at it if he wanted it, but the big picture was very much his to determine.

"Did God ever ask you to do this kind of work? To blow up buildings and set fires and hurt people? Somehow I don't think so. And who decides what you're supposed to do? Seraph? Or do you decide for yourself, Tim?"

"I…"

"You sound like a good kid," Gear said with his practiced yes-really-I'm-a-grown-up-hero-and-not-a-teenager voice. "And it's easy to see that Seraph has been using you to cover his own agenda. But you are the one with the power, Tim. You're the one that can decide what to do. You're the one who can decide whose side you want to be on."

"But…"

"I can tell you are a believer. But are you really supposed to punish sin yourself? I thought people were called to forgive, not to punish."

Tim fell silent and Gear left him with his thoughts. An almost-imperceptible beeping from Backpack was more interesting anyway; it was a signal that rescue was imminent. Within moments, there was a loud scraping from all around them, and the Shock Vox at Gear's hip crackled. Even as he picked it up, he cringed; with the power Static was funneling through it to communicate through the rock, he'd have to replace the transistors for sure.

"Gear! Gear, can you hear me?"

"I hear you, Static. We're fine."

"Okay." Gear could hear his best friend deflate in relief. "I'm about to pull this huge chunk of roof off the pile. I'll try to hold everything else steady, but yell if stuff starts falling."

"Oh, great plan," he replied sarcastically. Even so, it was either that or wait for hours to secure the site and have the authorities dig him out the slow way. Which would give Tim the perfect chance to hit us all at once and get away his mind reminded him. "We're both waiting for you, bro," he said instead.

There was a short pause and then, "I gotcha, Gear."

Hooray for friends who can take a hint!

The next several minutes were rather tense as the sheet-rock and the heavy beams from the walls and the ceiling all shifted again and again as Static lifted sections of the building from the pile. More than once Gear had to shout for him to stop and move things differently or risk a cave-in of their little space. But, even buried alive under half a building, Gear knew his friend. He knew Static would get them out or stop before he caused too much damage – either way, they were safe. It was rather comforting, given that he was, in fact, still buried and still blinded and crippled by the other occupant of their tomb-for-two.

But you'd look wrecked underneath the mess of little Backpack's cave built for two his brain sang at him. He shook his head. Stop that. This is creepy enough without the references to Space Odyssey, thanks.

"Okay, bro," came Static's voice. "I think I just hit the last of it. There's one big piece left. Can you see any light yet?"

Gear squinted against Tim's terrible vision, but couldn't make out anything other than the fuzzy blur of Backpacks LED lighting. He levied a glare in Tim's general direction.

"I can," the boy said softly.

"Visual confirmed," he reported dryly. "If you think you've got it, go for it. I'll holler if you gotta stop."

"Got it."

There was a tremendous rumbling and scraping above them and suddenly Backpack beeped and fell inwards, bouncing half on Gear's lap and half across Tim's legs. But before Gear could even crack open his voice to call for a stop, a wash of fresh air hit and the dark blur above became a bright blur.

"Gear!" Static's voice was just above him, and he squinted upwards. Another rumble and the debris piled around them like a snow fort scattered and Gear and Tim were out in the open street again, the sounds of distant sirens slowly coming to them as the authorities scrambled.

And then everything happened at once.

No matter how many times Virgil asked later, Richie never really had a good answer for the sequence of events. But from Virgil's description, what went down was nothing short of impossible or very, very improbable.

As Static leaned over his friend (and foe) in relief, Seraph bellowed like a monster, suddenly breaking loose from his bonds and flying towards the three at a ridiculous speed, almost faster than the eye could track. His arm was cocked and his power was burning – there was no doubt. He was going to slam Static, maybe Gear and Tim, and the blow would be fatal. There was no time for the supercharged superhero to react.

But somehow, Gear did.

Blinded, crippled, and feeling a touch of Tim's asthma, Gear would have said he was as helpless as a kitten. He didn't even KNOW Seraph was coming. How could he?

But he reacted anyway.

From where he was still folded in a boneless pile on the ground, Gear exploded in even quicker movement. One arm unerringly found Static's shoulders while the other caught Tim's collar and dragged. With a speed that would have impressed The Flash, Gear threw himself and the other two out of harm's way. Seraph passed so close that they felt the heat of his power burn their faces, but he hit rock.

"Stay down, you jerk!" Static reacted a minute too late, but not without style. He managed to turn in Gear's grip and draw a much larger, heavier beam from the decimated building across Seraph's legs, pinning him to the ground.

"You…saved me," Tim breathed.

And then Gear could see again, and his legs were fine. But Seraph was shouting.

Tim looked at him wonderingly. Gear shrugged. "Hero, remember?"

"But…how? How did you see him coming? You were blind." There was a tremor in Tim's voice that Gear didn't understand.

"Yeah! Bro, you got some crazy reflexes or something. Or a guardian angel," Static joked. But he squeezed Gear's shoulder almost hard enough to bruise and Gear knew what his best friend wasn't saying had to do with fear and are-you-really-okay and sorry-I-didn't-stop-him that they'd sort through later.

"A guardian angel?" Tim asked breathlessly.

"How else do you explain us getting out of Tinkerbell's path unscathed?" Static asked archly. He was standing and pulling Gear to his feet now, looking warily at the other Bang Baby in their midst.

"You…" Tim turned to Gear, "you said it wasn't a miracle that we weren't crushed."

"Um, yeah that was a miracle!" Static snorted.

"And now you…you got away from Seraph even though all my power was being used on you. You…there's no way." Tim's eyes were huge.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation," Gear shrugged again, more uncomfortable. He felt like he was only having half a conversation with Tim, and the rest was happening inside the kid's head. He took a few deep breaths, though, glad to be rid of Tim's asthma – after that little stunt, he could use untroubled oxygen for a while.

"I don't need a rational explanation. Rational explains Seraph and me – we're Bang Babies," Tim said slowly. "But that's twice you risked your life against bad odds to save me. Twice you saved me and you shouldn't have."

"And Static. Don't forget him," Gear winked at his partner.

"Oh. Oh my God." Tim's hands balled into fists and his nose crinkled hard. "Oh my God. He was right. And you were right. All along you were right. Seraph was wrong. I've been…oh my God."

"Hey," Gear reached out a hand. Tim didn't look like a bad guy now. In fact, he looked like he was about ten years younger and he'd just learned why it hurt to be a bully on the playground.

"I…I did this. But," and his eyes, even lost and swimming, glinted with a fanatical light, "I can make up for it."

Tim turned and moved towards where Seraph was yelling.

"You! You betrayer! Release me from your curse! You will pay for this, you Judas!"

"I have betrayed, Seraph, but not you. I betrayed my God. And He will punish me in His own way. But you betrayed Him too. And me. And for that I'm going to give you exactly what you deserve."

As Gear and Static watched, Tim's body jerked once and he reached out his right hand, palm out. Slowly he bent his fingers, closing his hand, and as he did, there was no denying a tiny wisp of light so faint it could have been a trick of the streetlamps except it wasn't.

"You're the one who taught me, remember?" Tim laughed brokenly. "You're the one who taught me to spread my gifts out so I hit lots of people at once, so they wouldn't all feel it. Or so I wouldn't hurt them permanently. Did you ever wonder what would happen if I put everything of me into one person, just one? Do you think maybe I could burn you with my disability and you'd bear it for life as I will?"

Seraph's face stilled in terror and Tim leaned close.

"Let's find out."

"Can he really do that?" Static turned to Gear, eyes wide.

"Um," his breath hitched. His brain was racing and not giving him answers he liked. "It's possible."

"Tim, stop!" Static cried, racing forward. "You don't want to do this. You're a good kid. You don't want to hurt him."

"Please," Gear moved right to the boy's side. "I already told you that it isn't your job to punish. It's your job to forgive. Don't do this."

"He deserves no less," Tim almost snarled, or, he would have if he hadn't been fighting back tears. "He can take my walker and my glasses and my inhaler and live the rest of his life unable to hurt anybody ever again. It's better than what he would have done to you."

"But you're not Seraph. You're not him. You're a good kid. And you mean well. Won't this make your God sad? Wouldn't you rather make Him proud?" Static asked softly.

"Tim." Gear moved so he could meet his eyes. "I know you know this one. 'Forgive and you shall be forgiven.' Seraph would have done the wrong thing. Please…don't do the wrong thing too."

"Is it really wrong?" he asked, sounding much smaller again.

"If it isn't, you're still doing it for the wrong reasons."

The strength went out of Tim then and he dropped his arm. His chin pressed tightly against his chest, he heaved a terrible sob, just once, before his legs gave way. Gear and Static caught him on either side, meeting one another's eyes and knowing that Tim had stopped projecting his body's frailties into Seraph and anybody else. They eased him to the ground and sat with him even as the sirens of the night drew closer and the flashing lights painted them in red.