A/N: Written for one of my many amazing fanfiction wives and fellow Dean/Luna shipper, Laura.

He's laughing. Beyond Shell Cottage, a war still wages, and Dean Thomas is actually laughing for the first time in months. But, with Luna, it's hard to remain serious for long.

"A what?"

"A Bristleburn Pixie," Luna says simply. "They hide in bonfires and destroy everything if you leave the flames unattended for long."

By now, Dean is used to Luna and the bizarre imaginary creatures she's grown up believing in. Once, his laughter might not have been friendly. He might have teased her because she's as strange as her theories. But he's grown to know her, to love her, and now he grabs a quill and bit of parchment "What do they look like?"

"Four inches tall with bodies that look like twigs," she tells him.

His hand begins to move, the tip of the quill scratching a rough outline.

"Their heads are covered in red spikes. It helps them blend in with the- What are you doing?"

Dean doesn't answer. The quill continues to move over the parchment, adding details and shading where needed. His tongue pokes out between his lips as he adds the last slant of crosshatched shadows. "Is it right?" he asks, handing her the finished drawing.

His heart swells with pride as Luna's jaw drops a fraction of an inch and her eyes widen. "It's perfect."

"So are you," he murmurs. Then, acting on some crazy impulse, he kisses her.