A/N: This is part of my "Winchesters Rising" Universe. The idea came to me for this story and I didn't want to wait until I wrote myself here in that particular story to post this. Still in Ben's POV.

So Dean and me got back from the video store early Saturday afternoon, and when we walked into the house, there was Sam, walking out of the house, carrying his back pack and computer bag over his shoulder. Everybody stopped walking like we all knew something was going on that shouldn't be going on. Dean got a squinty 'wanna tell me what you're doing?' look, and Sam got a 'um, uh, yeah, about that…' look.

Mom had gone to talk to Mrs. Eisenhauer down the street before coming inside, so she wasn't there to make me walk out of the room and miss what was about happen.

"Sam." Dean said. It sounded kind of like he was saying 'hey' and kind of like he was saying 'what the hell?'

"Hey, Dean." Sam answered him back. He sounded like he got caught doing something he didn't want to get caught doing. "Hey, Ben."

"Hey." I answered back. (I was so totally the coolest kid in school now because I always said, 'hey' instead of 'hi'. Even to the teachers.)

"So, what's going on?" Dean asked. Yep, still pissed.

"I – uh – " Sam gave another look toward me then back to Dean. "I found a job."

Dean had been still looking pissed, but on the word 'job', he straightened up. Real straight. Real serious.

"Where? What is it?"

Sam coughed a little, the way people do when they're about to repeat themselves or explain something, and pulled his bags a little higher onto his shoulder.

"Not a job job. I – uh – I got a job."

Gee whiz, the way Dean's eyes got squintier and the way his shoulders got tenser, I'd almost think he preferred a 'job job'. He stared at Sam the way Mom stared at me the day I had to tell her I used her computer without her permission and it was all completely frozen up.

"Where? What kind of job?"

"At a bar, down on Jefferson."

"A bar." Dean repeated like it was a really dumb idea. But man, if I thought he looked pissed right then, it was nothing compared to how he looked when Sam added,

"And – uh – I – uh – I've got a place to live."

And Dean got taller and angrier.

"Yeah, you do have a place to live. Right here."

"Dean – "

"Sam -"

I didn't want Sam to move out and I figured Dean would win because he always did win, since they came to live with us, every time he always won with Sam.

Only, this time, he didn't win.

"No, Dean. C'mon."

Well, that got Dean to go quiet, which wasn't what I was expecting, so he must've heard something more than the tired frustration I heard in Sam's voice. The way they were staring at each other, I wondered if they even remembered I was there. If not, I sure wasn't going to remind them.

"Dean – look, man. You belong here. You and Lisa – you two fit. You have a life here and you deserve to have a life here. Only you won't stay if I go to Bobby's, so I need to find my own life here. So – I got a job and a room."

"A room?" Dean asked, still sounding pissed and now sounding flip. "You think I'm going to let you move out of this whole house to go live in a room?"

Sam's posture straightened up now too.

"I think you can't stop me."

Dean's posture relaxed then, like he was losing air or something.

"Sam, look – it's only been seven weeks –"

"No, it's already been seven weeks. I can't stay here. Lisa shouldn't have to have me here anymore. She deserves her home back. She deserves a real life with you. And I -."

He stopped talking all of a sudden and I nearly asked, 'what?' but Dean beat me to it.

"You what, Sam?"

"I need this, Dean. I need to see if I can have a life, too. A real life. Not just hiding out here in a spare bedroom."

"But a bar, Sam? A room? If you're gonna move out -." Dean gestured with his hand like it was hard for him to say the words. "If you're gonna move out, we'll get you an apartment. Someplace you can move around in."

Even while Dean was still talking, Sam was shaking his head.

"No. I can't – I don't want an apartment. I probably couldn't afford one anyway."

"Then I'll – "

"No, you won't pay for it for me, Dean." Sam did his own gesturing, around the room. "This is your life, and these are you responsibilities and now I need to have my own. And I don't want an apartment. I want a room. It's a good room, a safe, comfortable room where everything I need is right where I can reach it." He bent his head down and raised his eyes to look at Dean. "Actually, it kinda reminds me of being in the Impala."

Dean got the squinty look again.

"Okay, that was just low." He said but he huffed his 'giving in' huff. "Tell me you have you own bathroom."

"I have my own bathroom."

Then Dean stared at Sam, like if he was a calculator, this was the part where all the sums got added up. Then, whatever the total was, he pointed a finger at Sam.

"You don't do a thing until I've checked out the room and the bar. You got it? Ben, when your Mom comes in, tell her I'll call her. All right, Sam. Let's go."

Dean turned and marched out of the house. And Sam followed along behind him, shaking his head.

~SPN~SPN~SPN~

Dean didn't get home until really late that night. Mom and me were sitting out on the front porch. It was after dark and we didn't have the porch light on and it was hard to see Dean's face as he came up the front steps.

"How'd everything go?" Mom asked, after she gave Dean a few seconds to say something first, only he didn't.

"We got him settled in." Dean said. "I bought him some stuff. You know, I got him a microwave and a tea kettle. Some dishes and forks and knives and spoons. He needed sheets and stuff for the bed." As he kept talking, he kept talking faster and faster. "And we got him – the bed's too short for him so we went to a furniture store and got one of those padded bench things – I forget what they called it – to go at the foot of the bed so his feet don't hang over the end. And some food. The room comes with a refrigerator at least. I got him a clock radio, one he can play his Ipod on, and a popcorn popper. Sam's never liked microwave popcorn so much. He says it's too salty so I bought him a – a – I bought him - "

And then like Mom knew what was about to happen, she got up and went fast to Dean and put her arms around him and just when she did that – he sobbed. I mean – it couldn't have been a sob, this was Dean, but it sure sounded like it was a sob, and Mom was holding him and Dean was holding her and his breathing sounded strange like it was hard for him to do and then Mom was saying,

"It's okay. It's good thing. Kids grow up. That's what's supposed to happen. Kids grow up and move out. It's a good thing."

After a minute or so of that, Dean sniffed and said into Mom's shoulder,

"He said – he promised – he'd come back for dinner at least one time a week."

"Good, I'm glad. I don't want him going too far either. And I'll still do his laundry. Just because he's all grown up and on his own, doesn't mean we don't still keep an eye on him. Right?"

"Ha. Yeah. Right." Dean said. He stood back from Mom, but didn't completely let go of her. "Thanks, Leese." Then he kissed her and sat down with her on the porch glider, and none of us said anything else for a long time.

The End.