It's The Great Pumpkin Sam Winchester Novels & Stories

Lincoln's POV As we enter English, I notice Sam sitting at a desk across the aisle from mine. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I lean over, extending a hand. “Hello, Sam, is it? I’m Lincoln Grey, future Alpha of the Shadow Pack. It’s nice to meet you.” He shakes me hand “Sam, Sam Williamson” He pauses, looking at me appraisingly, a small smile playing at his lips as he shakes my hand. “I didn’t think that squirt with the chip on his shoulder I met just now was the future Alpha I’d heard about.”

"When I apologised for beating him up, he told me about Edward’s plan and we came up with one of our own. We never knew about the gun though." "Oh, God," Lexi gasped. "Was it a real gun? I felt so damn sure it was—" "It was an M9-A1 BB gun," Sam said. "Looks pretty much identical to a real handgun and they said he could have taken your eye out at close range if I didn't... you know..." Sam pulled a face and made a stabbing gesture. "He's going to be okay right?" Lexi asked. "Well... yes... aside from the punctured lung and paranoid schizophrenia." Sam rolled his eyes.

Finding out Winnie wasn’t his daughter had clearly pushed him over the edge. She lifted her head, eyes brimming. “Why bring it up?” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You just want to mock me, don’t you? Does that make you feel better?” Sam chuckled, then pushed himself to his feet. He walked toward her, lifted her chin in a rough grip, forcing her to look at him. With slow, deliberate movements, he wiped away her tears. “I’m not moved by tears,” he said in a low, chilling voice. “I’ve killed plenty of people while they cried and begged for mercy.”

"All the times Mr Reynolds visited Cock and Bulls. It wasn't just for business or pleasure. He was there keeping an eye out for the bad guys." "Yep." "I swear to God. If you say yep one more time, i'm going to stuff that pizza in your mouth till you choke on that word yep." "Sorry." Melinda almost snorted. As serious as the situation was, the alarmed look on Sam's face was funny. Sam couldn't be passed for an emotionally wrecked or frightened girl. Infact, that was the opposite of what Samantha James was to the outside world. Sam was a bold and brazen strikingly beautiful black American lady. Her bright mind was sometimes too old for her twenty four years old body. Seeing this new side to he

Normally, when a guy winks at a girl, it seems so old-fashioned or creepy, but when Sam winks at me, I am made of butter and pooling on the floor. We finished our breakfast, and I could tell Sam was ready to get on the road. “Who are those guys?” I asked, looking past him, over his shoulder, first at the two at the counter, the friendlies. He didn’t even turn around. “The two at the counter are from your grandma’s pack. Charlie Tank and Pete Ellington. The other four are darks. Two of them live out of town, Frank Benson and Tom Davis. Mike’s grandfather. Bernard Parker and Harvey Smith live in the dark part of the forest.”

“BIG WHEELS KEEP ON TURNING....” “CARRY ME HOME TO SEE MY KIN” called out Sam smiling as she pulled up to the barn, turning the truck off but keeping the radio going. It was a sin in their books to interrupt Lynyrd Skynyrd. “Hey Sam! Hey Dani!” called out a familiar voice as the two hopped out of the truck. Sam turned around and smiled, waving at a gentleman with silver hair on the front porch of the house. “You two ready for this weekend?”

Paul asked politely. She pulled her chair back and sat. * * Sammy left his house in a jeep, although his arm was wounded, he decided to drive himself to her home. He parked the Jeep outside and rung the doorbell. Mukhwana was quick enough to run to the door and open it. They were having breakfast with their grandma. “Uncle Sammy, how are you doing, join us,” Mukhwana said. He smiled and walked in, his hand was bandaged, so he tried hiding at his back.

He looked Sam up and down—Sam was currently wearing a borrowed oversized shirt of mine and an expression of exaggerated readiness. ​"Yes, Mr. Baker," Sam chirped, snapping a crisp, military-style salute. "Sam Perez at your service. I can cook, I can clean, and I can sell bread like it’s the last food on earth. Just say the word, Chief." ​Mr. Baker let out a wheezing laugh that shook his flour-dusted apron. I couldn't help but smile, too. My own personality was a quiet, brooding thing—a product of years of survival. Sam, however, was like a sparkler in a dark room. He was loud, unfiltered, and vibrantly alive despite having absolutely nothing.

The weird thing was, Sam kind of felt like he knew him from somewhere. Sam looked around and saw all his friends, passed out in various positions, most of them snoring. He grabbed his watch off the floor, saw that it was 11 AM. They’d still be sleeping for a while. Sam crossed the barn and grabbed a bottle of water. He was about to drink from it, when he looked down and saw it was filled with cigarette butts. Revolted, he set it down, and looked for another. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a half-empty jug of water on the floor. He grabbed it and drank, and didn’t stop drinking until he downed nearly half of it.

Part 5: All Hallows Evie "Thanks for the help." Sam Holiday waved from the porch of his new - well, old but new to him - house, as the last carload of his siblings drove away. He eased down onto the porch swing and sipped a beer as the autumn sunset painted the sky. He'd turn thirty-five in ten days and he'd just bought his first home. It felt damn good. Now if only he had someone to share it with.