MIDNIGHT UNDER MOONLIGHT, a supernatural fanfic

Disclaimer: Of course, none of this Supernatural goodness belongs to me. Darn it.

MIDNIGHT UNDER MOONLIGHT
(Sequel to "The Naked Truth")

By: Vanessa Sgroi

A Sight to Behold

Eyes wide in anticipation,
outright appreciation,
of the glory, the miracle.
Smile and know,
it's yours to savor.

THEN

Dean knew then that something was up. "Tell me."

"What?"

"Sam. Tell. Me."

Sam swallowed nervously. "You know that ritual we have to perform tonight?"

"Yeah?"

"Says here we have to do it naked."

NOW

"I can't believe this," muttered Dean as he gripped the steering wheel beneath his hands even tighter, knuckles whitening, "Are you 100% sure we have to do this?" For once the throaty purr of the Impala was doing little to soothe his anxiety and general grouchiness.

"Really pretty sure."

"Uh uh. Not good enough."

Sam huffed out a sigh. "Dean, the phrases tractare exigo, patesco sub luna and vacuus vestitus are all over the place in the description of this ritual. And every single time they appear, the words are underlined like a gazillion times. So, yeah, really pretty damn sure."

Dean shook off the feeling of wanting to crawl under the seat and growled, "Fine!" He tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs. "Tell me where and when to turn."

The younger hunter consulted the little hand-drawn map in his hand. "The access road should be coming up here on the right in about five minutes."

Indeed five and a half minutes later, Dean turned onto the rutted dirt road and drove as far as he could until the road simply disappeared. Coming to a full stop, he switched off the ignition and pocketed the keys. "Looks like we walk from here."

The brothers exited the car simultaneously, just missing thudding the driver and passenger doors with timed precision by seconds. Moving around to the trunk, each grabbed a supply-and-weapons-loaded duffel before striding purposefully deeper into the woods, bright moonlight guiding their way through the twisted trees. They were about a mile in when they finally reached the designated clearing.

Dean dropped his duffel in a pile of brown, desiccated leaves, hearing them crinkle and crunch beneath its weight. "Let's get this over with." The hunter began to pull items from the bag, including a shovel, candles, and matches. "What do we do first?"

"The hole." Sam answered while emptying his bag of tricks.

"Off to dig the hole." Dean muttered, grabbing the shovel.

"No, wait!"

"What?"

"We have to do everything—every single step—naked. Or it won't work."

"You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding."

Sam bit his lower lip and shook his head.

Dean tightened his grip on the shovel for a second before loosening his stiff fingers and letting it fall to the ground with a clang. "You first."

"What! No way! I say we do it together," hearing the words he just uttered, Sam choked a little and hastened to clarify, "I mean we should do it—strip—at the same time."

The elder Winchester lowered his eyebrows into a frown, huffed out a breath but otherwise remained silent. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and his long-sleeved gray shirt. Wary, he paused to make sure Sam was doing likewise before yanking his t-shirt over his head. His amulet, pleasantly warm with body heat, bounced a couple of times against his chest. Closing his eyes, he undid his jeans, hooked his thumbs in the waistband of both his jeans and his boxers, and pushed downward, ignoring the goosebumps that erupted as more and more skin was exposed.

Sam unzipped his chocolate brown hoodie, yanking it off and dropping it in a heap on the ground. It was quickly followed by both his long-sleeved and short-sleeved t-shirts. Now bare-chested, his fingers found the button on his low-riding jeans, and he hesitated only momentarily before undoing it then the zipper. The denim soon joined the rest of his pile; his boxers and socks seconds later. Sam shivered as the chill breeze picked up, rattling the wizened leaves still clinging to gnarled branches. He risked a glance at his older sibling, noting immediately that Dean was now nude—except for his socks which he was making no effort to remove. Sam averted his eyes and cleared his throat before ordering, "Socks too, Dean." There was a low growl and then a couple of choice swear words accompanied said socks as they bounced off the side of Sam's head.

"All right. You go dig the hole in the middle of the clearing. Remember—about a foot wide and three feet deep. I'll get the rest of the…um…stuff set up." As he spoke, Sam glanced over his shoulder and did a double take. His brother had a white motel towel wrapped around his hips. He swiped a hand down his face. "Dude, lose the towel."

Eyes wide, Dean stuttered, "Ahh, c'mon. It's just a towel! I'm naked under the towel. That counts!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, technically, Dean, we're ALL naked under our clothes. Now lose the towel or the ritual won't work." He ducked as the towel went flying past his head.

"Fine—just don't be looking at my ass! Or anything else."

"Believe me, the last thing I'm thinking about is looking at your ass—or your self-proclaimed perky nipples," the tall hunter declared, "Seriously, you know—we've both seen each other naked before—when we've been injured or sick or whatever."

"Yeah, well, that's different."

"Different how?" Sam sucked in a lungful of air. "Nevermind. Just go dig the hole."

"Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around. I think from this point on we keep our backs to each other. Failing that, eyes stay at chin level."

"Oh. Good idea." Sam nodded.

Dean bent forward and picked up the shovel. A quick survey offered up the center of the clearing and he stalked to it, at this point wanting nothing more than to get this whole debacle over with as quickly as possible. He grunted as he drove the shovel into the dry, hard ground. Dean quickly learned that digging a hole barefoot was rather painful. His grouchiness increased tenfold.

After a couple of shovelfuls, he growled, "Man, I've done a lot of seriously crappy stuff in my time but this just takes it. I've got things dangling in the breeze," Dean shivered, "the cold breeze—that should never be dangling in public."

"We're not in public," Sam called back. His face was a mask of concentration.

"Yeah, well, close enough!"

"Just dig, Dean," Sam's exasperated command echoed across the clearing.

"I'm digging! Don't get your panties in a twist—oh wait—you're not wearing any!"

Sam tossed a quick glare over his shoulder before finishing the sigil on which he was working. When that one was done, he moved five feet to his left and started the next one. "I'm not exactly thrilled with the whole dangling thing—I mean concept—myself."

The next few minutes passed quietly except for the crunch-thunk of the shovel blade biting into the earth, the swish of spray paint jetting from its can, and the restless wind that continued to toss frost-glistened leaves and rattle branches.

"Done!" called the elder sibling, "What's next?"

"Pour holy water around the circle and three drops exactly in the circle."

Retrieving his bottle of holy water from where it sat near his duffel, Dean limped back over to the hole and did as instructed.

Finishing the last sigil, Sam stood, keeping his back to his brother. "Now we need to put a candle between each symbol I just drew."

That task complete, Dean queried, "Is that it? Can we light the candles, say the shit now and get outta here?" When Sam failed to respond, Dean peeked over his shoulder. "Sam?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Uhh, not quite."

Dean really didn't like the way his brother said that. "Saaaam!"

"Umm, well, you see—we—we kinda have to…um…put paint and stuff on our bodies."

"Tell me you're kidding." When Sam again remained quiet, Dean dropped his chin to his chest in defeat. "Is this night ever going to end?" he muttered to the leaves and grass beneath his bare feet. He was so busy contemplating his toes he didn't hear Sam's approach, therefore, jumping a foot when his brother spoke.

"All right. Here's what we do. There's watered down blue paint, right? It needs to go in a circle around your bellybutton. Then on your chest you need to draw three arrows from hip to shoulder pointing up toward your head. Then three arrows on your back pointing up."

"That it?"

"Umm, nooo."

"So help me, Sam, if you tell me I have to finger-paint something 'down there', I'm kicking your ass!"

Sam again felt red flush his cheeks. "NO! No, nothing like that. Geez! The last bit here says we have to connect the arrows with six alternating arching lines—three of lavender oil and three of camphor oil."

"What the hell? You're making this up, aren't you, Sam? I mean—seriously!"

"If I was making this up, Dean, why the hell would I be doing it too, huh?" Sam finished with the blue paint and handed it to his brother. When he was finished with the lavender and camphor oils, Sam handed them over as well.

"Great—not only am I stark naked and smeared in blue paint, now I get to smell like a sick old lady too. Man, this stuff reeks!"

"Hey, could be worse, we coulda had to use rancid bear fat and eau du skunk or something…"

Dean snorted in agreement or disgust; it was hard to tell which.

"Turn around. I'll do your back," muttered Sam.

"Man, this is SO not cool." Dean stood still and bit his bottom lip, working hard not to flinch when Sam's finger found a couple of ticklish spots.

Both Winchesters breathed a sigh of relief when that part of the ritual came to an end. Sam hurried to his duffel and grabbed a book of matches. "Now I'll just light the candles, and we can recite the ritual. That should do it. The maanluun should be banished forever."

Dean stood shivering for several minutes waiting for his brother to finish this latest task. Man, it's cold. My boys are not happy. I can't wait to get back to the damned motel. Hot shower's sounding might good right about now.

"You done lighting those candles yet?"

"Yeah, I'm almost done. If the freakin' wind would just die down a—OW!"

Dean's head snapped around at his brother's yelp of pain then just as quickly snapped forward again when he caught a glimpse of Sam's bare back. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," grumbled Sam, "Burned my fingers."

"As long as that's all you burned, Nature Boy. 'Cause I'm not treating any burns in exotic locations."

"Ha Ha. There—the last candle's lit." Moving to Dean, Sam shoved a piece of paper into his hand. "Now all you have to do is repeat after me, okay?" Sam took a couple of steps back in preparation for his next words. "OH, and we…uh…we have to sing the words."

"S-Sing the…" Dean stared at him, dumbfounded. "Whatever. Let's just do it and get out of here."

"Three times, Dean, okay? We have to sing it three times."

"Okay, okay. Let's go already!"

Sam took a deep breath and began. "Maanluun. Nex phasmatis."

"Maanluun. Nex phasmatis."

"Adveho. Adveho."

"Adveho. Adveho."

"Reverto domus."

"Reverto domus."

"Exspectata tergum ut terra."

"Exspectata tergum ut terra."

"Per meus impero."

"Per meus impero."

They repeated the chant two more times. As the last sung syllable died away, the wind suddenly picked up in intensity, tossing leaves and sticks high into the air. The ground beneath their feet began to tremble and shake. The vibration rattled their bones as they tried to maintain their balance.

Dean glanced over at Sam. "Is this what's supposed to happen?"

"I hope so!"

Thunder rolled across the sky, each clap louder than the last. Suddenly, an earsplitting screech rent the air, forcing the Winchesters to cover their ears. In between one blink and the next, an amorphous red mist appeared above the hole Dean had dug. The enraged screeching continued, growing impossibly louder, as the blood-red mist roiled and writhed. Then a final unearthly scream blended with a sizzling clap of thunder and the mist elongated, spiraled down into the hole. For a split second, all grew quiet. Without warning, ball lightning boiled forth, streaking across the clearing in all directions.

"Down!" yelled Dean. He hit the dirt next to his brother, feeling intense heat ghost over his back, butt, and legs. He waited a couple of minutes to make sure the coast was clear before sitting up. Several dried leaves clung to his face and hair. He brushed them away with an impatient hand. Dean sighed in relief when he saw Sam sit up across from him.

They both looked around in amazement. Everything was gone—the candles, the sigils, the hole—all gone. The clearing looked untouched; the only oddity being the odor of ozone hanging heavy in the air.

Dean clapped his hands together. "Guess that's it then." He gained his feet and was halfway to his pile of clothes before Sam even made it to his knees.

Still taking in the sight, Sam stood, murmuring. "Yeah, looks like it."

"C'mon, Sam, get the lead out." Dean pulled on his boxers and jeans, thought about throwing his leather jacket on over his bare chest before remembering the paint and oils and quickly changing his mind then stuffed his bare feet into his boots. The rest of his clothing he shoved in the duffel bag with the shovel and holy water. He was out of the clearing by the time Sam managed to get his own jeans up around his waist.

A fully-dressed Sam caught up with him a few minutes later. "You okay, Dean?"

"Uh huh. Just dreamin' about a hot shower and some coffee." His feet crunched through some woodland detritus. "Hey, Sammy…"

"Yeah?"

"What happened in that clearing, stays in that clearing. No one ever has to know about this. Ever."

"Uh, sure. Sure, Dean, I hear ya." Sam bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't have the heart to tell his brother that he'd had to ask Bobby to help locate and translate all the pieces of the ritual. ALL the pieces. Therefore, Bobby knew exactly what was going to take place.

Both hunters let out a happy sigh when the Impala finally came into view.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

Later, at the motel, Dean reclined against the head of his bed savoring a cup of strong, black coffee. He was thankfully warm after a hot shower, the scent of lavender and camphor replaced with the clean, plain scent of Ivory soap. Sleep was just beginning to call his name, luring his eyes to half mast. The soothing sound of running water in the bathroom nudged him even closer. He and Sam were safe, the maanluun was gone, another successful hunt was over, despite the awkward circumstances required to make it happen.

He jumped when his cell phone rang. Grabbing it off the nightstand, Dean glanced at the caller ID. He flipped the phone open and settled it against his ear. "Hey, Bobby."

All was quiet for a split second on the other end then a gruff, if not overly familiar, guffaw sounded through the earpiece.

"Bobby?"

The laughing continued, and Dean pulled the phone away from his ear, eyeing the caller ID with a puzzled look on his face. He shoved the phone back up to his ear.

"Bobby? What the hell? You possessed or something?"

The giggling came to a droning end. "S-Sorry, D-Dean. Was just callin' to see if you boys wanted me to find you a new hunt at the nearest nudist colony." The laughing started all over again.

Dean slammed his phone closed.

"SAAAAAAM!"

In the bathroom, behind the shower curtain, under the last remaining streams of rapidly cooling water, the younger Winchester flinched. And said a quick prayer for protection from irate older brothers.

FIN

A/N:

Translations:

Tractare exigo – perform exact
Patesco sub luna – bare under moon
Vacuus vestitus – without clothes

Nex Phasmatis – death spirit
Adveho – come
Reverto domus – return home
Exspectata tergum ut terra – welcomed back to earth
Per meus impero – by my command