Tim Drake

Tim Drake was a man of science, plain and simple.

To put it even more bluntly, he did not believe in magic. He was always mentally disproving other heroes' abilities as being a result of mutation, extra-terrestrial origin, or simple illusions. However, that perception of the world shattered into a million pieces when he became friends -- and teammates -- with you.

As soon as he saw you in battle, sending out fireballs and using all conceivable types of -kinesis to dominate your opposition completely, he was both enamoured with your skills and slightly annoyed with himself at his lack of knowledge about you and your powers.

He wanted to believe in your magic abilities, but that little ultra-logical part of his brain wouldn't allow it. You likely just had some ultra-advanced elemental tech he'd never seen before... or maybe you were an alien, like Clark or Conner?

The more he thought about your abilities through a scientific lens, the less sense they made. He had to run some experiments, and for his sanity's sake, you agreed.

You were seated at his kitchen table with more wires than you could count plugged into you. Tim sat opposite you, hunched over his laptop, looking at something that vaguely resembled an anatomy chart.

"This... doesn't make sense. Completely human... no implants... no tech... no anything... just..." he murmured mostly to himself, his fingers idly drumming on the edge of the table. "I don't understand how your powers work." His tone was blunt, tinged with annoyance, but it was mostly at himself.

You expertly fought back the urge to chuckle at his clear obsession with your magic and instead tried to console him, but it was no use. Tim couldn't rest until he got a good, scientific answer as to why you could shoot lightning out of your fingertips.

"Run me through your known powers... one last time?" He looked you dead in the eye, his tiredness more apparent than he'd like to admit.