Title: Good Deeds
By: nixa_jane
Pairing: Dean/Rodney (Stargate SG-1)
Rating: PG-13
Note: This story takes place about nine years ago - actually, since I wrote this three years ago, it's more like twelve years, now - right about when I figure Rodney was being recruited for Area 51. This was meant to Rodney/Dean, too, but then Dean ended up all hurt and only seventeen and I just could not see Rodney allowing anything to happen there. So it's still slash, but mostly this is just like a battle of snark.
Summary: "Oh god," Rodney said, eyes flickering towards the road and back. "You're not some escaped mental patient, are you?"

Dr. Rodney McKay knew how things worked.

It was a gift. It had started at a very young age, when he'd listened to the noise on the radio, and then tore it apart to find out where it was coming from. He knew that things like wormholes and alien life were theoretical and improbable, and that people didn't just walk through archaic rings of stone and end up on the other end of the galaxy.

He also knew that absolutely gorgeous people did not smile at him like that.

At some point after getting a call from some sleaze ball named Maybourne with a job offer and his flight to Nevada, the world had obviously lost all sense.

The stunning grin aimed at him was flickering out and becoming bemused, and Rodney realized he'd been staring. "Wha--?" he said.

The kid laughed and leaned back against Rodney's worn Honda Civic, sticking his hands in the pockets of his ripped up jeans. "I asked if you picked up hitchhikers," he said, slowly, and far more amused than the situation warranted.

Rodney frowned at him. "You don't look like you're hitchhiking," he said.

"Just because I'm not on the side of the road?" he asked, his smile going dazzling again. "Man, it's hot out here. I've been hanging inside the Easy Mart trying to find someone going my way. No luck so far."

Rodney felt a smile start, and forced it back down. He didn't have time for this. "No," he said.

The smile aimed at him didn't fade in the least, and Rodney guessed the kid was probably used to turning people's answers around. "Really? You should try it," he said. "You meet a lot of interesting people that way. This one time, I hitched a ride with a trucker, he had some lovely insights on the decline of American morals, right before he got handsy..."

Rodney's eyes narrowed. "You shouldn't be hitching rides with degenerate truckers," he snapped.

"Well, yeah, probably not," the kid said, grinning at him again. "But all the respectable ones say no."

Rodney sighed heavily. "You're trying to guilt me, aren't you? Because if you are, you're wasting your time, I'm really not a nice person--"

"I think you are," he interrupted, his smile turning sly. "It's in the eyes. Eyes always give everyone away. You're not going to leave me here to get molested by some beer-bellied ingrate that's forgotten how to bathe. You don't have it in you."

"Damn it," Rodney said, frowning a little deeper, because he was right. He couldn't stop thinking about waking up tomorrow and reading the news about some kid found dead on the side of the road. His brilliant mind was too valuable to be swamped down with that kind of guilt. "Just get in."

Rodney heaved another sigh as the kid laughed and hopped in the passenger seat without being told twice, and Rodney threw his grocery bag into the backseat before getting into the car. "Where are you going?" Rodney asked.

"Where are you going?" he echoed.

"Caliente," Rodney said.

The kid nodded. "Sounds good. Can you drop me off there?"

"Might as well," Rodney said. "I'm kind of committed now." He started the car and pulled out onto the empty desert road. "Where are you really going?" Rodney asked after a moment of silence.

"I'm heading towards Bullionville."

"That's a ghost town," Rodney said, glancing at him.

"Yeah." The kid brought a hand up to scrub it through his hair, a little anxious, Rodney noticed, despite the devil-may-care attitude. Rodney frowned as he caught sight of something, and reached out to snag his wrist.

"Hey," he protested, but Rodney just rolled back his sleeve and glanced at the medical bracelet around his wrist. Dean Schwartz, it said, Bennett Hospital.

"Oh god," Rodney said, eyes flickering towards the road and back. "You're not some escaped mental patient, are you?"

Dean laughed, and pulled his wrist away. He reached for the hem of his shirt, and Rodney frowned, wondering what he was doing before he pulled it up. There was a large jagged cut starting below his rip cage and tilting towards his hipbone, tied all up with neat even stitches, and Rodney winced.

"Jesus," Rodney said, swerving a little on the road before getting back on track.

"Nah, not crazy," he said. "Just got stabbed, I can't seem to get the damn bracelet off." Dean let his shirt fall back into place, and Rodney looked back at his steering wheel, wondering just what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

"That doesn't look good," he said. "Should you even have been released yet?"

"Checked myself out," Dean said, like he did it all the time, and for all Rodney knew maybe he did.

"Don't you have family?" Rodney asked, and regretted it instantly. He of all people should know better than to ask, considering the state of his own, but Dean just smiled fondly and nodded.

"Yeah. That's where I'm headed," Dean said. "They had to leave on urgent business, but I'm going to try and catch up with them."

"They just left you at the hospital?" Rodney asked, feeling a little outraged on the stranger's behalf. It was weird. Usually he just didn't care. "And you've been hitchhiking with those stitches?"

"Hitchhiking isn't exactly a contact sport," Dean said wryly.

"I thought you were getting molested by truckers," Rodney snapped.

"Well, yeah," Dean said, grinning smugly. "But I can handle them, stitches or not." It was the kind of cocky tone that only the really intelligent (like himself), the stupid (which Dean didn't seem to be), and the really young ever used, and he looked at Dean suspiciously, for the first time noticing just how young he really looked.

"How old are you, anyway?" he asked.

"Just turned twenty-one," Dean said easily. "Why? How old are you?"

Rodney glared at him. "That's none of your business."

"You asked me," Dean pointed out.

"Well you're the one that looks twelve," Rodney said. "I don't want to get in trouble for having picked up some underage runaway or something."

Dean laughed. "Well, don't worry, I'm running to my family, not away from them." He narrowed his eyes at Rodney for a moment and then grinned again. "Twenty-seven," he said.

Rodney glanced at him. "How did you do that?"

"I've always been good at reading people," Dean told him, and then held up Rodney's wallet. "And also I looked at your driver's license."

Rodney's eyes widened and he grabbed the wallet back. "How the hell did you--"

"Relax," Dean said. "I wasn't going to take anything."

"You're some kind of criminal, aren't you?" Rodney demanded. "Knife wounds and pick pocketing and tricking people into giving you a ride just so you can slit their throats--"

"You're a bit high strung, you know that?" Dean asked, leaning back in the seat. "Don't worry, man. Even if you don't trust me, even a geek like you should be able to fight off the guy with his side ripped open."

"How did you know I was a geek?" Rodney demanded, and Dean's lips quirked when he didn't get the denial he'd been expecting.

"Please," he said. "You might as well go all out and get yourself that pocket protector."

Rodney looked back to the road and pursed his lips. "Well we can't all look like James Dean wannabes."

Dean glanced over at Rodney's profile. "It's not looks," he said. "It's your mannerisms, and that five minute lecture you gave the cashier when she gave you the wrong amount of change. You're fine in the looks department, don't worry, it's your attitude that gives you away."

Rodney reddened a little. "You heard that?"

"The next town over heard it," Dean said wryly. "You almost made the poor girl cry."

"And that's when you decided to ask me to give you a ride?" Rodney asked, disbelievingly.

Dean laughed. "Well, yeah," he said. "I've learned that anyone that painfully honest can probably be trusted. It's the people that smile and try to charm you that you have to watch out for."

"People like you, you mean," Rodney said warily.

Dean laughed. "Exactly," he said. Rodney couldn't stop the small smile that formed, and Dean only grinned wider. "So you can smile," he said. "I was starting to wonder."

Rodney let himself relax a little as they continued the drive, more at ease with this stranger than he was with his new co-workers at Area 51. He might have more in common with them, but they were all idiots, and they couldn't hold a conversation to save their life.

When he reached the city limits, he felt strangely reluctant to let Dean go. He knew he would never see him again, and Rodney just wasn't the type to form these passing connections. He didn't know how to let go, because he so rarely let himself reach out in the first place.

He cleared his throat and glanced at his passenger, who looked a little paler than he had before, and was holding his side. "Do you want me to drop you off at a motel or something?" he asked.

"No, anywhere is fine," Dean told him, sitting straighter, and letting his hand drop away from his side.

Rodney frowned. "Where are you going to sleep?"

"I realize you're new to the whole hitchhiking thing and don't know the etiquette," Dean said sweetly, "but you don't actually have to worry past getting me out of your car."

Rodney bit his lip for a moment, and then shook his head. "I can't just leave you out here alone."

Dean snorted. "While I appreciate the concern, I can take care of myself."

"Yeah," Rodney snapped, glancing pointedly at his side. "I saw how well you take care of yourself."

Dean grinned. "You should see the other guy."

Rodney shook his head, and then turned on his blinker and started driving towards his house. "I have a guest room," he said.

"Look, Rodney," Dean started.

"How do you know my name?" Rodney demanded.

"I looked at your driver's license," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Which is all the more reason you shouldn't be inviting me into your house. Do you have no sense of self preservation?"

Rodney's brow furrowed. "If anyone should be more careful it's you, letting strange men pick you up. For all you know, I could be a deranged serial killer."

"Serial killers generally don't have top level security clearance in secret government programs."

"Damn it," Rodney snapped, glancing at him nervously. "Did you go through my entire wallet?"

Dean shrugged. "I like to know who I'm riding with, and honest as you seem, I just don't trust people up front."

"You're not supposed to know anything about secret government programs," Rodney said firmly. "You have to forget that right now."

"I've got enough to worry about on Earth without worrying about deep space telemetry too, so consider your secret safe," Dean said.

Rodney ran a hand through his hair, and then planted both hands back on the wheel. "God, it's only my first day," he said. "I'm already screwing up. It isn't fair. I'm the smartest one there. I shouldn't be having these kinds of problems."

"Hey, I didn't really see anything," Dean said. "But you might want to be more careful with your wallet. You're really an oblivious kind of person, you know? You've got mark written all over you."

"You're being so helpful," Rodney snapped, as he pulled up into his driveway, turned off the car, and then just sat there, staring at his rented house.

"This isn't one of those things where I know too much and now you're going to kill me, is it?" Dean asked, but he sounded amused, not frightened, and Rodney could see the smirk without turning around.

Rodney let out a breath he'd been holding. "Do you want the guest room, or not?"

Dean laughed. "Yeah, sure."

Rodney's house was empty except for the stacks and stacks of boxes, some of them open, and spilling over, all of them labeled in a hurried winding cursive. "Nice place," Dean said.

"There's lights, beds, a microwave and a fridge," Rodney snapped. "I don't need much else. I don't plan on spending a lot of time here."

"Top secret," Dean said wryly, squinting at one of the boxes. "Hey, you aren't some James Bond type, are you? No, wait, let me guess--you're Q?"

"Hey, get away from those," Rodney said, grabbing his arm and tugging him into the mostly empty living room. "And I'm Canadian, not British."

"Still, you're quite the man of mystery. I like that," Dean said.

"I doubt I have as many secrets as you, Schwartz."

"Schwartz?" Dean repeated confusedly.

Rodney paused. "That's your name, isn't it?"

Dean's eyes widened, and then he laughed. "Right, yeah. It's just no one ever calls me that."

Rodney sighed. "No one calls you that because it's not really your name, is it?" he asked with exasperation.

"Dean is," he said, and flashed his grin. "You can just call me Dean."

"Okay, Dean," Rodney said tiredly. "Third door on the right. And don't steal anything."

Dean glanced around dubiously. "Like what? Your tasteful cardboard boxes?"

Rodney glared at him. "I'm a little more worried about what's in them."

Dean grinned. "Well, don't be. I only steal from assholes. I'm like Robin Hood, except that I keep all the proceeds for myself."

"You're instilling me with all kinds of confidence," Rodney said. "I could probably be fired, just having you here. I bet you have a criminal record, don't you?"

"Ha," Dean said. "I never get caught."

Rodney's eyes narrowed. "I think the desert is killing my brain cells. I never would have picked you up in the first place if I was still sane."

Dean just threw him a crooked grin. "Hey, mind if I use your phone?" At Rodney's continued suspicious glance, he added, "Chill, man, it's local."

"Fine, but try and keep it short," Rodney said. "I'm going to get a soda. Want something?"

"Beer?" Dean asked hopefully.

Rodney shook his head. "I'm still not sure I buy the twenty-one thing."

"Fine," Dean said. "Anything's good." He found the phone sitting on top of one of the cardboard boxes, and sat down on the floor to grab it. He pulled the piece of paper with his father's motel number out and then dialed.

"Dean, this better be you!"

Dean winced at his father's tone, because he had really been hoping to avoid a confrontation. "Uh, yeah," he said. "What's going on?"

"What's going on? You're missing," he snapped. "I called the hospital Monday, Dean, and they told me you were gone. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I thought I'd be there before you even knew I'd checked out," Dean protested.

"You didn't think I might, maybe, call the hospital to check on my son?" John shouted. " I tell you to stay somewhere, you damn well stay there until I say otherwise. Now, where the hell are you?"

Dean glanced down the hall to the kitchen to make sure Rodney was still out of hearing distance. "Staying with a friend," he said quickly. "In Caliente."

"What friend? Since when?" John snapped. "And give me an address, now."

"Dad, I'll be there by tomorrow night, there's no reason to--"

"Dean," John said, in that tone that meant he was in serious trouble, "do you have any idea what we've been through the last two days? You're going to tell me where you are right now, or so help me god, I will track your ass down myself and drag you--"

"564 Ellis Lane," Dean said, wincing as he did it, but he's never been able to defy his father when he used that tone, and it really didn't seem like a good time to start.

"You sit tight," John said. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

Dean opened his mouth to protest again, but John had already hung up.

"Problem?" Rodney asked as he came back in. He handed Dean a soda, and Dean took it gratefully, without bothering to stand up.

Rodney fell down beside him and opened his own can of soda. "Do you ever just think that life is nuts?" he asked.

"Pretty much all the time," Dean told him. He glanced over at him. He didn't know why, but he liked Rodney, and on the surface they may seem to have nothing in common, but Dean could see something in him--something hard to break.

Dean liked people that were hard to break. He had no use for the rest.

He leaned across kind of abruptly, and kissed Rodney once, just gently, because he'd been fighting the urge to do that ever since he'd seen the man lecturing that poor cashier. Rodney went stiff at first, but then he gently returned the kiss.

"Things like this don't happen to me," Rodney told him softly.

Dean frowned at him, because he said that so sad, like he thought he didn't deserve for them to. "If it makes you feel better," he said. "They don't happen to me either."

Rodney kissed him again, but said, pulling back, "We can't do this."

"Why not?" Dean asked. His father was at least twenty minutes away, and he'd been starved for this kind of attention since three states back on their last hunt, when he was too busy with school and researching ghosts for anything else.

"I'm not a one night stand kind of guy," Rodney said.

Dean was about to try and change his mind when he heard the familiar roar of a far off engine, and he ended up stumbling to his feet instead.

"What?" Rodney asked, startled.

"I think my dad's here already," Dean said. "Shit. I forgot how he drives."

"Your dad?" Rodney repeated.

Dean winced. "Yeah. Uh, listen--I may be a little younger than I said," Dean told him reluctantly.

Rodney's eyes narrowed. "By how much?"

Dean offered a shy smile, trying to distract him. "Well, I'm seventeen."

"Seventeen?" Rodney repeated, feeling sick. "You're kidding?"

"I'm almost eighteen," Dean offered quickly. "Just a couple months."

"A couple?" Rodney asked.

"Well, eight," Dean said, and then grinned. "But it doesn't matter, okay, don't worry."

"Oh god," Rodney said, trying to breathe. "Your parents are probably going to have me arrested. How did I become a pedophile without even realizing it?"

"You're not a pedophile," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "First off, I kissed you, second, I'm an adult. Practically. Besides, you don't have to worry. My father doesn't want anything to do with the police."

Rodney let out a breath and nodded, and Dean leaned against the door to look out the peephole. "He'd probably just kill you," he continued.

Rodney's eyes widened and he threw himself down on the floor. "I'm so going to hell," he said.

Dean laughed. "I've had my fair share of experience with the hell bound, and I assure you, it's definitely not your crowd."

There was a knock at the door, so Dean looked out the peephole again, surprised when he didn't see anyone. He pulled it open, looked down, and then there was Sam.

Sam launched himself at him, throwing his arms around his waist. "Thank god," he said. "We thought you were dead."

Rodney pulled himself up off the floor, but tried to stay out of sight of the family reunion. He was learning his lesson very very quickly. Good deeds never went unpunished.

John Winchester appeared in the doorway, chin up, eyes narrowed, and Rodney took a deep breath. This guy was much scary than the people he'd met at the SGC, including Teal'c.

"You're in so much trouble," Sam said, but the smug little brother tone was lost in the fact that he was still hanging onto him like he couldn't let go.

John checked Dean over quickly, before moving his eyes to Rodney, who was trying very hard to disappear. "Who are you?" he demanded gruffly.

Dean quickly stepped between them. "He's Rodney McKay, you know, old Alistair McKay's kid? He picked me up from the bus stop."

"Alistair McKay doesn't have a kid," John said suspiciously.

"Sure he does," Dean said. "You just never pay attention to stuff like that."

John frowned, but moved his angry gaze from Rodney to Dean. "I told you to stay in that hospital until I got back," John snapped. "Christ, Dean."

Dean's laid-back demeanor seemed to instantly fall away. "I thought you'd need my help," Dean said, sounding upset. "I was just--"

John shook his head, grabbed him by the arm, and tugged him outside. "Thanks," he said to Rodney, quick and dismissive, before pulling the door shut.

Rodney stood there for a moment, wondering what the hell had just happened, and then his door was swinging open again and Dean was there. Dean grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him again, briefly. "I never said thanks for the ride," he said to the speechless Rodney.

"Dean! Get your ass back here right now!"

Dean glanced nervously at the door before turning back to Rodney with a grin. "Maybe I'll catch you again sometime," he said, and winked before sprinting away. "Like in eight months!"