Sam actually managed to make it to DeSando's class on time the next day. Work at the cafeteria had been slow, so his supervisor had let him leave ten minutes early. Sam kept looking around, wondering what was taking Zack so long to arrive. He looked over his shoulder to the left when he hear a voice on his right ask, "Is anyone sitting there?"
He whipped around to see Blondie standing in the aisle, looking at the seat on the other side of Sam. Today she was simply wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt, her hair slightly messed up and no makeup on her face. And Sam was still having a hard time thinking about anything other than her. He finally managed to say, "No."
There was no way Blondie would be able to climb over Sam's long legs, not that he would have minded her trying. He stood up, but the rows were still so narrow that there was barely any space between them as she inched past. Sam let out a sigh of relief when they were both able to sit down.
Sam glanced at the clock and realized there were still a few minutes to go before class started. He usually wished this class would start later, so he didn't have to rush, but now he wished DeSando would start class early. The awkward silence between Sam and Blondie was driving him crazy as he tried to think of something to say to her. She rummaged through her backpack and muttered, "Oh, crap!" under her breath. She looked at Sam and asked, "Do you have an extra pen I can borrow?"
Sam managed to stutter out, "Uh, yeah," handing her a black pen from his backpack.
She rewarded him with a smile and said, "Thanks."
He gave a smile back and DeSando finally started the class. Sam was both loving and hating his current position. On one hand, he was sitting by a beautiful girl he'd been attracted to since the beginning of the semester. But, by the end of class he realized he'd taken a grand total of two notes and had no recollection of anything DeSando had said.
The bell rang and Sam quickly got up, making a beeline for the exit. He saw Zack sitting in a back row with a Cheshire grin on his face. He followed Sam out into the hallway and said, "Look at you, Sam! Putting the moves on Blondie!"
"I wasn't putting the moves on anyone."
"Oh, so she was hitting on you."
Sam rolled his eyes and said, "There was no flirting! She just needed somewhere to sit."
"And she chose to crawl over you as opposed to taking one of the available aisle seats?"
Sam could feel his face turning bright red and Zack walked in the other direction, saying, "Later!" over his shoulder.
Sam felt like smacking himself. He'd had a perfect opportunity to get to know Blondie better and he had completely blown it. He would never understand how Dean had been able to teach him everything, except how to flirt. It had taken Sam months, just to make eye contact, whereas Dean could have any woman he wanted within five minutes. Although, Sam didn't think a "Wham bam, thank you, ma'am" approach would work with a girl who'd been smart enough to get into Stanford. Sam focused on the present as he realized he had a hunt to start.
Sam sat on a bench in a middle class neighborhood. He'd been sitting there for ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to knock on the door of the house at the end of the street. After class, he had gone to the library, to look up the name of the victims. The first victim had been a student, but he was local. Sam had decided to talk to the guy's mother. That was all much easier said than done. It was one thing to question people while riding shotgun to a smart-ass older brother. It was something else entirely to talk to people by himself. Sam had gone on hundreds of hunts, but he'd never before thought it might be different if he were on his own.
He finally forced himself to get up and walked to the house. Sam had thought long and hard about what kind of approach he should take. Posing as law enforcement was out of the question. He didn't have the time, nor the extra money to make a fake ID and he couldn't risk getting arrested. That didn't leave him many other options. He finally decided to pose as a student reporter. He knocked on the door and waited.
The door was finally opened by a short middle-aged woman. She looked at Sam and asked, "Yes?"
"Are you Mrs. Kocho?"
"Yes," she said, eyeing Sam suspiciously.
"My name is Sam Winchester. I'm writing an article on the recent deaths."
She began to close the door and Sam quickly said, "Please, Mrs. Kocho. I just need a few minutes of your time."
"I just lost my son and only child," she said, bitterly. "Why should I help you?"
"I'm hoping that in writing this article I'll be able to help the police figure out what happened to your son, so it won't happen to anyone else. Mrs. Kocho, four people have died already and I just want to help stop it."
It might have been Sam's earnestness, or his puppy dog eyes, but Mrs. Kocho opened the door further and motioned with her arm that he should come in.
A/N: I'm sorry. I really hate when people do this, but I'm not going to continue this story. I have a very busy life now, I'm writing a novel, and, frankly, I wasn't really sure where this was going anyway. At the moment I have no time or motivation to write a multi-chapter fic, but I do have a one-shot coming up. Again, sorry.