Title: Cat Calls

Summary: Sam Winchester had to pay off his debts somehow.

Warnings: This is a Hooker!Sam AU, so, be prepared for things that aren't as pleasant to the eye by some.

A/N: Hey, look at the bitchin' summary. Isn't it great?

Also, I am considering turning this into a chapter fic thing but I am not sure just yet.

Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise.

Sam Kinkade stood on the street with only the clothes on his back and hair in his face. The street light shined brightly, and he could just see all the others that were on different corners and different spots. Some glanced at him, wondering who he was, or what he was maybe. He wasn't even sure what he was doing—wait, no, yeah he did. Those payments for Standford, right? To make sure he could stay in the fucking place and do great things.

He kept his head held high, leaning against the brick wall that had a big fucking sign on it. Something about a pub, but it had boards on the windows. It was closed down, perfect place to be if one wanted to be undetected. Sam was eighty percent sure he could get away if the cops showed up and, hey, maybe he'd even be able to pick one up if he got caught anyway.

Way to be optimistic, Sammy boy.

He shook his head, and brushed his hair back. His heart was fucking racing, he needed to calm the hell down. He wouldn't get any cars to stop if he looked like a junkie on the fritz. For a moment his fingers got twitchy, and he put them behind his back, hips moving forward and back some. That was pretty damn seductive in his opinion, what was it Jess said—He looked like a good fuck on wheels…but Jess had been pretty drunk when she said that too…

Sam hadn't asked much of his adoptive parents, he still called them fosters at times but they didn't know that. It wasn't really their fault either, it was his. They were what every family was, the dream, everything was nice and everything was bright…but it never felt like family to him. Never felt like something he was really a part of but Sam knew how to smile and nod his head, and be a good son. Sam did his best to keep up, but money was tight in his new family, and sacrifices had to be made.

He would be damned if he got kicked out of this place though. Stanford was his home…

The street light flickered some, and he glanced at it. He could just see the girls across the street getting a bit spooked at that. After one street light's bulb shattered completely, a nice loud pop, they squeaked. Sam could only stare, pause hips moving forward. What the hell—

The girls ran off though, around the corner and Sam looked up. The sounds of a engine roaring came down, and a car was coming. He stood up a bit more, not quite straight up but enough to be seen. Please, let that street light on his side stay lit, that's all he could manage to pray for as he kept his back to the wall.

Don't smile, Sam, until it stops. Don't smile until the car stops, and the window goes down. His eyes widened some, a fraction really, when he realized that was an Impala. It was a rather nice car, not too expensive looking but nice enough. It looked slick, and smooth, like when someone touched it they could feel the chill of it run through them.

When the window finally rolled down, he made his move forward. A few steps, and that Sammy smile came over his lips "Hey, you wanna—"

But his words fell to silence when he saw the driver. It was a man, maybe a few years older than him with a great grin and bright eyes. The driver looked like he was staring at a prize jewel. His heart practically lept and up into his throat, almost making Sam choke on it.

Sam finally was able to blink, and keep up his smile.

"What are you doing out here by your lonesome, kid?" The man asked, clearly he knew exactly what he was doing out on this fucking street. But the driver just kept smiling at him, and watching—waiting probably for the next move.

Ball's in your court, Sam.

"I need a ride, though…I feel like you do too." Smooth.

Sam felt butterflies, but he reminded himself this wasn't about love or any romantic safety or anything like that. This was about money, this was about working and, gosh, did this guy look like he'd give him one hell of a ride anyway. He leaned against the car some, arm on the door but the way the driver looked at him, it was like he had offended him and dishonored the guy's mother or something.

"Just got it waxed." The man stressed but smiled, blinking a few times before eyeing him up "How much?"

How much—Oh…right…

"For you? Hm." Sam smirked that time, swaying his hips some, enough for the sight to be seen by the driver of the Impala. Those seats looked expensive…maybe the car wasn't in as poor shape as he thought. His hair got in his face again, but the smirk left, a warmer smile "Fifty bucks."

Fifty—Jesus christ, Sam, why don't you just ask him for his liver too?

Sam knew he hadn't been out here long enough to manage to get fifty bucks but—

"Alright."

Wha—What—

"What's your name?"

"Anything you want, bright eyes." Sam smiled though, even when his heart got caught in his throat again and demanded to be felt.