I honestly don't think I can do this anymore. I've been trying, starting and re-starting this chapter numerous times already. XP Basically, I've completely lost my inspiration. I'm sitting in front of a blank Microsoft Word document, trying to force myself give you guys SOMETHING because it kills me to leave a story hanging. No matter how short it turns out to be.

But please. If you're still with me, can you review? It may give me something to go on, especially if it's about the plot. XP


Indeed, as hard as it was, they couldn't go back into the woods. Shawn flew back in, only going a few feet before turning around.

Gus didn't jump out of the shadows.

Tabitha didn't speak again.

And yet there was a feeling in there—it was so heavy, Shawn felt like he could reach out and feel it: fear. It only thickened when he went farther inside, and he had run back out within seconds. They had gone home in complete silence, but not to sleep. Nobody could.

"By the way, how did she get you?" Shawn asked Juliet, after he dropped her off at her apartment. "Where did she get you?"

"She got me at the airport, I think. It's mostly fuzzy. And black. I do remember everything that happened, though. And you seem to know an awful lot about this, Shawn—what the hell happened to us?"

"Uh . . . Can't talk now, new Sci-Fi movie of the week comes on in ten minutes! It's supposed to be about killer piranhas and Dracula."

She frowned at this.

"I promise, I'll tell you later on tomorrow!" With that, he drove away.

And now, it was the next day. Lassiter and Juliet had to go back to the station; Chief Vick was assigning an important drug-dealers case to them, officially handing the case on hand to the 'FBI agents.'

Shawn, Sam and Dean had found a store that might just help them. It was a sort of supernatural store, even with a sign hanging above the front entrance reading "Supernatural."

"Huh. Supernatural." Shawn stopped to look at the sign. "Seriously. Don't you guys ever think that'd be a great name for a TV show—like, with you as the stars?"

"No," Dean stated flatly. "That's a horrible idea. It should have something more kick-butt, something to actually draw people in. Let's get inside so we can kick Tabitha's butt."

Shawn practically swaggered inside, the other two right behind him. He went up to the woman at the register, and put his hands on the case display of amulets. "Hello. My name is Shawn Nuffuberwellinger. This is," he pointed to Sam, "Sam Shleegandae-Manhattingberg," he pointed to Dean, "and this is Sam Shleegandae-Manhattingberg. No relation. Feel free to call Sam Sam, and call Sam Peanut-butter. Feel absolutely free to call me gorgeous. 'His Majesty' would work just as well."

Both men turned to give him a look, then gave each other an uncertain eye before turning back to the girl.

"I am the S.B.P.D. department's head psychic," Shawn put his fingers against his temples, "and we're here on a case."

The girl looked shocked for a moment, then just plain creeped out. "Ah-I'm Tabitha . . ?"

He looked down, nodding his head. "Of course you are."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Well, wh-what do you want?"

"We're here to research witches. This one girl on our case keeps repeating 'witch-game, witch-game, evil-witch-game,' and it's driving everyone down at the station nuts."

"Witch games, huh? I think I have the perfect book for you," Tabitha turned around, picking through the bookshelf to the right of the register. She turned back around, and showed them a black book, with the word "Spells" written in cursive and gold. *"This is about ancient witch folk-lore. As in, the witches who would take little children from their homes at night, or something along those lines. Like how you can get on the wicked "broom-riding" witch's side, how to play and defeat her favorite games, all of that stuff. The author's name is Tabitha, too." She grinned at that.

Shawn threw out his arms, "Why is everybody's name Tabitha?!"

"Hey," Sam elbowed his way in front of this Tabitha, "Sorry about my friend, he's had this serious problem with that giant, infectious rash on his bu—"

"Whoa—!" He exclaimed, "Peanut-Butter! Let's not traumatize this lovely, awesome, second-Tabitha-we've-met-in-two-days. Besides. I think we all know about your little issue with those Barbie dolls."

Dean poorly attempted to stifle laughter.

Sam glared at his brother. "Well, at least I don't have an angel night-light."

He smiled. "Hey, you've been using it whenever that girlfriend of yours comes over. What's her name? Oh, right—James, isn't it? Billy? Jack?"

"Hey, none of them have that tapeworm you got from the stray dog you kissed the other day. Or the flea-infested-apartment."

"Whoa, seriously?" Shawn chuckled, "We're seriously playing this game?"

"No," Dean turned to Shawn, smiling. "But maybe you'd like to play Candy Land with yourself later on."

"Hey! Speaking of games and jokes, how's that career of yours going?"

Sam interrupted, seeing that Tabitha was slowly backing away, "We'll take the book. Sorry."

"Hey," Shawn said as they were in the parking lot, "What was up with the line of fake insults? As entertaining as they were and are—wait, none of them were true, were they?"

"No," Sam unlocked the door to the car. "But don't you dare ever call me Peanut Butter again."

"Don't you dare call me gorgeous or 'His Majesty.' That would just be awkward, man."

"And don't call me Sam," Dean said, "Unless you wanna die."


Seriously. Feel free to request a plot line, or I won't finish this. It's become too much trouble, and I keep losing inspiration. Especially when I update and nobody reviews!

*- See, none of this is true. I'm just desperate to find a plot to this story.