When Tim pulled off the cowl and Strange could see his face, he tipped his head in apology. Forty-five years old, and having lived through an unending span of trapped time in a time loop: he had a bad tendency to think everyone else was young now. Should probably work on that.

But more interestingly—

"Oddly, we don't really have a standardised term for it yet. I've heard enhanced, gifted, superhuman... there's Inhumans, too, but they're something else. You don't have any powers whatsoever? And your suit isn't powered by a nuclear reactor or anything?" It might be a batshit question, but he just sounded academic and intrigued while asking it, like someone asking what model car you drive. So. This newcomer was like Barton and Romanoff, then — although it always surprised him a little, when non-powered heroes pulled on the suit and jumped in to help regardless. People were so fragile and breakable. He should know.

While they spoke, he started leading them down the hall towards the kitchen. "The Sanctum is one of the homes of the Masters of the Mystic Arts. We defend this plane of existence from extradimensional threats. Which makes you incredibly relevant, but not a threat, I assume."