A/N: Another way overdue story I found hiding on my hard drive. It's written off a Fourth of July prompt from a couple years ago.

Original Prompt: I can't remember exactly, but the gist was it had to involve fireworks and the aftermath of Dean's deal.

Setting: It's AU since I waited so long to post, but it's finished so I can't just let it die quietly on my computer. Set after the end of Season 2 but before Season 3, soon after the night of 'All Hell Breaks Loose.' It's Dean-centric, but other characters, including Jo, are in the story. I won't apologize for liking her, she's freaking awesome.

"The fireworks from the rooftops fall
Down around this whole town.
And it seems like so long
Since I've had you beside me here."
'Fireworks,' The Gin Blossoms

1. During

The last thing he remembers is the cartoonishly bright explosion. Stars of fire and smoke fly past him in sheets like the meteor shower he saw one summer night at three in the morning. The heat and noise is deafening and disorienting and before he knows it he is weightless. Then the street is rushing up to grab him. A strange thought pops into his mind—this must've been what Jimmy Page was feeling when he did 'Dazed and Confused.' He hits the pavement hard and everything goes black. He feels himself bounce once and knows it can't be good, and then the world stops…

During Sam's first summer Dean begged his parents to get fireworks for the Fourth of July. His mother refused, of course; but his dad immediately latched onto the idea and after a couple small arguments Dean was allowed to buy as many fireworks as twenty bucks could pay for. His dad drove him to the edge of town, to the fireworks stand covered by an old canvas army tent; and they wove up and down the tables twice so that Dean could see all the different types before he made any choices. He went straight past the sparklers and bottle rockets—he'd seen them before and they weren't very cool. Instead, he headed for the artillery shells, the Roman candles, the rockets with names like 'flying saucer' and 'nuclear winter.' Fifty bucks didn't seem to go that far, so he bought as much as he could, and with the bit of change he went back for a few bottle rockets. They might've been small but it would be a lot of fun to shoot them down the street and make the neighbors scream.

When they got home his mom glared at the both of them. "Get those things out back—I don't want them in my house." She told them.

So Dean took them to the back porch and he could hear his dad smile as he talked with his wife. "You want to come out and watch, honey?"

"No thank you," was her short reply.

"Oh, don't be mad," his father said, and Dean turned the corner to see them hugging. "Boys will be boys, after all."

His mother disengaged herself from him, "Then you boys go have your fun." She moved a chair from the kitchen table to the back window. "Sam and I will sit right here and watch."

"Are you sure?" His father asked, and Dean understood the seriousness in the question.

His mother pursed her lips into a half smile. "I'm sure. Sammy's two months old, John. Those things are too loud and bright; never mind the fact that it'll probably scare him to death."

Dean looked over to the jumble of large baby toys in the living room and saw his baby brother rolling on the floor, babbling and drooling.

"Alright," His dad said. "Get ready for a show." He opened the door and Dean stepped out with him.

They launched a few bottle rockets to start things off, and his dad let him use the Zippo to light the fuses. They crackled and sizzled and then exploded with a satisfying Pop! The bigger fireworks were loud and angry and blinding, but he loved it all. The smoke, the fire, the rush of racing out of danger before the fireworks exploded. He watched wide-eyed as the rockets left a trail of sparks and exploded in globes of fire and rainbows of glitter. It felt like only a few minutes before they were ready to shoot the last few off and go back inside.

He found himself shouting "Finale! Finale!" over and over again. "All at once!"

His dad laughed, "Alright. You can do the bottle rockets and I'll do the others."

Dean flicked the wheel on the Zippo and put the flame under the fuses. They all caught and he pulled back quickly. But the little rockets were jumbled and instead of flying up they went every direction. Suddenly he found himself in the middle of a hornet's nest of fire and swatted at them in an attempt to get away. His hand connected with something hot and solid, and he yelped and tripped over his feet. Then things became jumbled and painful: he hit his head on the porch and explosions boomed all around him. He curled into a ball, closed his eyes in fear, and wished everything would just stop.

Then he heard his parents' voices, distant and unintelligible. He tried not to cry but his whole body hurt and he was scared so he doesn't remember if he did or not. They rushed him to the hospital but he couldn't answer any of the doctor's questions because he couldn't hear them and couldn't stop staring at the huge needle that some nurse had in her hands. When she pricked him hard with it he suddenly felt numb and very sleepy…

He woke up with the midmorning sun smiling brightly through the curtains of the hospital room. He saw his mom look up from the baby carrier and smile. "Dean, how do you feel?" Her voice was still low and hard to understand.

Dean could only grunt; his mouth sticky and dry.

His mother immediately stood up. "Have some water." She handed over the cup she had been sipping on.

Dean took a sip and pointed to his head. "Can't hear," he said, and his own voice sounded loud to him. He looked around the bed and saw he was hooked up to an I.V. and had several bandages on his arms and shoulders.

His mom put her hand on his knee. "You're fine, honey." She smiled. "You're fine." He believed her because she was his mother.

It took a while, but he was finally better. He could hear his parents and his little brother, he could smell dinner instead of black powder, and his skin didn't sting every time he showered. Then his house caught fire in the middle of the night.

When he comes to his head feels like it is being compressed in a vice and his throat is scratchy and dry. He can't see a thing—only dark shadows and vague forms—and is momentarily horrified by the thought that he may be mostly blind. He shivers, and can feel plastic tubing running to his wrist. It feels like he's in a bubble, able to observe but not interact. What the hell is going on…?

"Hey there," A woman's voice brings him out of his shell. "You had us going for a while." The room is dark, lit only by a small table lamp that silhouettes the voice's figure against the opaque window curtains, and he realizes it must be night. It's hard to see anything but he just knows it is Jo who is sitting in the chair, waiting for him to wake up. But he and Sam had started this hunt alone. Jo and Ellen were staying with Bobby—strength in numbers. Jo had watched her mother like a hawk after she found out the Roadhouse had burned to the ground. So why is she here, alone? He's a little unnerved by the whole situation.

"Where's Sam?" The question is automatic, instinctive.

"He's in the cafeteria down the hall." His vision is getting better, and he can see her lips turn up slightly. "He thought you'd wake up the one time he would be gone more than five minutes."

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asks gruffly; his mouth is dry and his tongue feels like sandpaper.

"You want a drink of water?" Jo asks.

"Please."

"Here." She takes a few steps towards his bed and hands him the glass she had been holding.

Dean can see a smudge of lip gloss on the rim, but he's so thirsty it doesn't matter at this point. He sips slowly and the water rushes down his throat, cooling the fire.

Her face becomes serious as she sits back down, "Someone's got to watch you." She answers his question. She's still speaking softly, unwilling to disturb the quiet of the room.

He'd been expecting a joke or some tongue-in-cheek remark, but she seems to be in a serious mood tonight. Or contemplative. Or maybe she's just tired. He doesn't know and he's not about to waste what little brainpower he's got working just to figure it out.

"Where are we?" He asks, trying to move his arms. But they just become entangled in the sheets and I.V. tubes. He shuts his eyes hard to try and force the drowsiness away.

She replies brightly, "In a hospital."

Ah, there's the smart-ass comment. "Really," he deadpans.

She looks out the window a moment before she answers. "Salina."

"I'm still in Kansas?" He thought for sure they would've left the state after the job was finished.

"Yes, Dorothy—there's no place like home." She smiles sadly at that, even though it's really not funny.

"Sort of like a reverse Wizard of Oz, huh?" He mutters darkly.

"What?" She's serious again; catches his eyes with hers and won't look away.

Her look causes him to stutter as he tries to explain, "I just mean, I don't know. Dorothy can't get back to Kansas, and I can't seem to get away."

She shakes her head, and he can see she's trying hard to understand him—which he thinks is stupid because he's just babbling—someone must've given him some painkillers. "I don't get it." She says. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing." He shuts her down. "I just hate this friggin' state."

She watches him and he can't help but feel exposed, under interrogation. "I know it's hard to be here again." She tells him.

"What the hell do you mean 'again'?" He's confused and can feel his temper slipping away.

"Not here," Jo shakes her head and her hair swirls around her, reflecting the dim light like a sparkler. "I mean here in Kansas," She clarifies. "This is where it all started for you. The Demon, losing your mom—"

It's a point Dean hasn't thought of in years. "That's enough!" He cuts her off sharply, and she looks down at her feet in embarrassment "Stop trying to play connect-the-dots with my life." He takes a deep breath and forces it out loudly before changing the subject. "I shouldn't be here."

The comment catches her attention immediately. "What?"

"I shouldn't be in Kansas." He growls. "I'm wanted for murder—John Walsh is foaming at the mouth to lock me up. The first place they'll look is Kansas."

"Because of what happened when you were a kid?"

"No!" He pauses a moment. "Well, yeah. They think they know me." Dean says derisively. "The FBI guy tracking me—he's got files. I was just another vigilante 'til I pissed him off. Now he wants to take me down hard. He's got a task force trying to find me and Sam." She's quiet, lost in thought, and he realizes that she doesn't know half of what is going on. None of this makes sense to her because he's kept her in the dark about nearly everything in his life. The silence makes him uncomfortable and he stares at the curtains to avoid dwelling on it. They move ever so slightly, swaying back and forth with the air that flows out of the vent on the ceiling.

Finally, Jo speaks. "We checked you in under the pseudonym David Bryan."

Dean scoffs at that.

Jo smiles a little, "Sam said you'd like that alias."

"That's Sammy—he's just got to have his fun." Dean says dryly.

"Is that some sort of brotherly joke?" Jo asks.

"No," Dean says. "In fact, it's not really that funny. When Sam was—" Dean stops. His eyes flicker between her and the window until the words come to him and then he starts again. "When I was trying to find him, he had checked into a motel under the name of Richard Sambora, so I gave him crap about being a Bon Jovi fan. I guess he figures it's time for a little payback."

Jo glances at the door and is quiet a moment before she speaks. "I know there's something going on."

"No there's not, Jo." Dean chuckles bitterly as he answers her.

"Yes there is." Jo tells him. "Mom told me you killed The Demon. But something else happened and no one is talking about it."

"Nothing else happened." Dean says in a tired voice.

"Oh, stop lying to me! I can tell." Jo suddenly lashes out, fed up with his untruths. "You did something, and whatever it was must've been huge because now it's the giant pink elephant in the middle of the room." She stabs her finger at him to emphasize her point. "I saw the books in the Impala; and Sam is always on his computer doing research but he never tells me what it's for."

"Maybe he's just looking at porn."

"Dean—"

"Just drop it, Jo." Dean commands in a dodgy voice. "Sam's alive, your mom's alive, we got the Demon. Everything is fan-friggin'-tastic."

Her forehead crinkles and she quickly draws in a breath, but before she can say anything Sam comes through the door holding a brown paper bag and a bottle of soda.

"Dean?" He questions in an unbelieving voice.

Dean turns away from Jo and looks at his brother. "Yeah." He says calmly.

"Gah—wha—are you okay?" Sam drops the food and drink on the second chair in the room and stands at the edge of the bed, eyes glancing at the electronic monitors Dean is hooked up to.

"I'm awesome." Dean tells him sarcastically.

Jo huffs loudly and stands up. "Un-freakin' believable!" She hisses as she storms out the door.

Sam watches the little scene and then turns back to Dean after the door slams shut. "What was that all about?"

"She's just pissed about being left in the dark." Dean says.

Sam picks up his food and drink, and then sits down in the chair. "We should've told her about coming down here." He tells Dean.