Magic was something Tim wasn't personally familiar with - he'd tried his best to understand, but it wasn't understandable. Tim, naturally, was thrown by this- followed by intimidation. He was far more intimate with the abundant wires and computers he had trained with. Knowledge is power, and without it- he feels defenseless.

It took him a while to unburden that, despite his displeasure, socery wasn't logical, inconsequential and inconsistent even. It was something that made him query his various collections of ornate tech that he was ever so confident in. He was browbeaten, disturbed by the lack of consistency in it.

He, congenitally, had avoided your presence when you two originally crossed paths, too frightened to fall down the rabit hole of the craft that many others had practiced before. But eventually, he opened to the idea of kinship, and after a couple months, a friendship bloomed- it wasn't much, too afraid to get close incase he'd get hurt. It was something that dawned on you eventually- and likewise, you didn't say much, too apprehensive of the results. It was something that loomed over the two, his uneasiness with your magic and your own disquietude from the au fait of loss. It was a silent gap that only thickened with time.

A loath hand smooths over his bicep, and he cringes at the sensation. He was shot- blood draining while the two of you are infinates away from a safehouse. A troublesome status that's surely to lead to at least something perpetual—unless, to the dismay of Tim - you do something. He's aware you can heal him, at least somewhat. The thing is- he doesn't confide in you adequately. Too fearful that it will do something far worse than a shell abrasion lodged between his limb.

He can't help but wince away before you can try and begin the procedure, the expression on his face similar to remorse.

"Just.. be careful, alright?" He'd eventually sough out, holding his arm elevated to your own.