Aaron has always been a reckless kid, doing anything to get his hands on a can of beer, even almost getting himself killed by a nose. Most people think he’s crazy for being so incredibly rash, he’d make a bigger profit that the guys at Jackass; and they’re right. Aaron has never accepted what he is. Instead of thinking of it as a gift, or a power, he thinks of it as a curse. After all, he didn’t have the happiest or simplest beginning to find out about his power. It wasn’t very complicated either. His dad was an alcoholic, he hit him and threw bottles at him as well as his mother, but Aaron was never a coward, and had always looked out for himself and his mother, a run-down weakling, taking two shifts at every job that he was hired in to take care of them both, giving her more than he ever gave himself. He was going to sleep one night, his eyes weighing more than his entire body, unusual for him because all his life he’d had insomnia, and when he woke up, he was in the past. He was invisible to all around him, but he cold touch and watch them, although not replay moments. He discovered that his mother had forgiven his father for cheating too many times that he’d lost count, almost killed him, and his mother had never defended him when he’d spat hostility and disgust at his son, neither did she defend Aaron when he hit her. When he woke up, his mother had arrived home drunk. His anger had taken over him and he slapped her hard, but he could never hate her. He could never forgive himself for resenting her, or her for betraying him deeper than anything, but most of all, the worse, was that he could not forgive himself for hitting her.
He ran away after minutes of staring at his mother’s shocked, disturbed face, leaving everything behind. He didn’t know how long it took for him to find Tim and Jean, but as soon as he did, he broke down. He went crazy and he told them everything in yells. They took him in, yet once in a while, he’d have his breakdowns and sometimes attempt suicide, break everything in his way, his anger at himself for not forgetting the fact that he hit his mother, for not forgetting his mother, he’d be strong enough to beat up the Hulk. He hasn’t had any of those breakdowns for a while, but the depression is still under there, under that layer, waiting to boil up. He covers it up with more layers, pretending he’s a natural asshole and inserting curse words as every second word, drinking more than his father but not at all once, of course, because there’s a chance he could have his breakdown. He’s the guy for drugs that you go to, but almost never does them in public, and although everyone thinks they know everything about him, they know nothing, even Tim and Jean don’t truly know him, never have and never will. He’s very cocky and befriends next to no-one, but fools most people into thinking they’re pals, although he’d kill that person without a second thought if he truly had to. And he holds a grudge against girls, treating them like whores and never sleeping with one for more than one night, and after that night, forgetting about their existence; they’re an object of sex, nothing more, nothing less, he doesn’t do small talk with them and if they don’t want to fuck him, well, fine, he’ll find another better than her. Who cares? He’s already forgotten her name. Very few people know of his power; he ignores the burden thrust upon him although he can’t quite control it, so it comes once in a while, shoving more painful memories down his throat and tightening the belt to the little scrap of false sanity he has left.