I had always been a pretty massive nerd. Not in a weasely, loser kind of way, more in the normal guy with super-nerdy interests. Anime, manga, comics, what have you. And, like most nerds, I wound up hooked on Supernatural. I mean, how could you not love it? A couple of dumbasses wandering around killing monsters and getting in fights over stupid shit. Now, there are a couple things about me it's important to know before I tell my story: first, I'm not incapable. Hell, I'm an Eagle Scout, and I keep myself reasonably fit. I'm also eighteen, which is less important but still worth noting. Oh, and I grew up in the South, so guns and knives were pretty much part of how I was brought up.
Anyways. The night all the crazy shit started was a few days after my eighteenth birthday. I had just finished my last day of my senior year of high school, and I was up late finishing up the latest season of Supernatural, season thirteen. It was probably about three in the morning, and I was about to conk out. Last thing I remember thinking was something along the lines of, "Why is this world so fucking boring?", then I fell asleep. When I woke up, I wasn't in Kansas anymore, Toto.