Mount Everest was not conducive to human life.

Castiel stood at the twenty-by-ten-foot summit, gazing down past the scudding clouds. The trails that led up the mountain could only be seen by a trained mountaineer's eye, or in this case, angelic intuition, and conquered only through liberal use of spike-soled boots, oxygen tanks, and eighteen-inch icepicks. Fatal fissures were hidden by innocuous snow, and could plunge the unwary climber to their deaths by freezing or starvation. In fact, when the powder marginally melted under the sun in summer, some irretrievable corpses could be seen at the bottom of the narrow cracks, forever lost in the midnight blue scars of the mountain. The oxygen up here was almost nonexistent: the few molecules there were being whipped from human lungs by the biting wind. It was -34 degrees without wind chill. The snow depth was ever-changing due to the forty MPH winds, but it always stayed above three feet. And usually, that was mixed with six inches of ice.

But he was an angel: such petty things as climatic conditions did nothing to harm him. Exercising a fraction of his Grace, he formed an oxygen-rich, heated bubble around the summit, safe from the driving wind and most of the cold.

The view, all carbonized bamboo-grey and sweeping white and distant civilization, was awe-inspiring. Castiel never lost an opportunity to marvel and the Father's creations.

He couldn't help it: he broke out into a smile. The trench coat slid from his shoulders, and he half-turned to the woman beside him. "Are you cold?"

The tips of her cherrywood curls bounced from under the heavy hat she wore. "No, baby," Laura replied, shifting her thick, steel-spiked boots. "But thanks anyway. Aren't you freezing?"

He shook his head, draped the trench coat around her shoulders anyway, and began to unbutton his dress shirt. "One of the many benefits of being holy. Shall we get the ball rolling?"

Laura giggled, and coquettishly batted her eyes at her stripping husband. "Oh yes, let's. This is probably my favorite part."

"What do you mean?" Castiel smirked, slowing as he reached the lowest buttons.

She blushed: it had nothing to do with the cold. "Seeing you all powerful and angelic, seeing your wings..." She stepped forward, and rubbed her hands along his abdominals to the small of his back. "To answer your earlier question," she whispered in his ear. "I'm plenty warm. You might even say...hot."

Castiel growled, and bent to kiss her fervently, wondering if it was bad etiquette to make love to a woman on a mountaintop. In front of company. He was stopped by a dramatic retching noise.

Lyra was heaving. "Ew, guys! Mom, Dad, can't you keep it to a dull roar?"

The angel and his human wife broke apart, at the lips at least. "Sorry," Laura called, beaming over her shoulder. Castiel pulled her a bit closer with an intense, smokey gaze, jogging her attention. "Actually, not sorry," she amended, shooting her husband promissory eyes.

"Yuck! I need an acid brain scrub!" Lyra howled, rubbing her eyes. "It! Won't! Go! Away!"

"Alright, alright, enough," sighed Castiel longsufferingly. "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready since I was born, dad," grinned the fourteen-year-old girl. She bounded to their sides, fiddling with the zipper on her triple-layer jacket. "This is the best birthday ever!" The girl shed her first layer and started on her second.

Laura batted her daughter's gloved hands away, tore her own gloves off with her teeth, and pulled the zipper down. "Listen to your father. He's the expert." Now shy of her first two layers, Lyra nodded with all the solemnity of a first time solo driver. Her eyes, which were her father's blue, shone with enthusiasm. "Turn up the heat, babe." Castiel complied.

Once the youngster was down to her final long-sleeved shirt, both females looked to Castiel, who was unfurling his large, inky wings into reality. They stretched the entire summit, sketched in midair like pencil strokes, for their true color and magnitude could not manifest on this plane. The primaries were sharp, defined by their razor edges for fighting, splayed like individual fingers. The hard upper edges of the wings were tougher than diamond, used for parrying enemies' weapons. It was not that long ago he'd used them to win Laura, and not long since that he'd driven off demons to keep Lyra safe.

Lyra whistled, eyes wide. She'd never seen her father's wings up close, although she was known to beg from time to time. Cautiously, bordering on awe, she crept forward. "Can I touch them, dad?"

Castiel nodded.

Finally, thought a little voice in the back of Lyra's head. Gingerly, her fingertips brushed the feathers. They were smooth yet hard, flexible yet strong, and, to her mostly-human eyes, there but not. She could look at them too hard, and they would flicker from her vision, but out of the corner or her eyes, they were elegant lines of charcoal. "Wow," she breathed. "How come mine aren't like this?" Hers were more birdlike than angelic.

Castiel and Laura exchanged a look. "Because you're only part angel, sweetie," said Laura. "You're special. Have been since the day you were conceived."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Castiel, gathering his daughter's hands in both of his. "Because, if you want to wait another year - "

"No way, dad!" cried the girl, grinning fiercely. "I've waited fourteen years as it is!"

Castiel sighed and pulled her into a hug. "I don't want you to grow up too fast. That's all."

"Although it's cliche, dad, I need to spread my wings."

The angel nodded, both the heavy-hearted father and the world's most ecstatic cheerleader.

Laura began to take the safety pins out of the back of Lyra's shirt. Inch by inch, her daughter's back was exposed. The bases of her wings were soft, downy skin-and-feathers over whipcord tendons, hollow bones, and hard muscles. Lyra reached down her shirt and unbuckled the cobbled belts that kept her in human clothes. Her mother guided the wings through the hole in her shirt and stepped back.

Lyra sighed with relief as the blood rushed back to her extra limbs. Stretching the wings as far as she could, she pouted at how short they were compared to her father's span. "You're still growing, little one," chuckled Castiel. "You've got some feet left to go."

That comforted her some. Pulling one wing in front of her, Lyra began to hurriedly, excitedly, straighten the pure white feathers with her fingers. It was an unfortunate necessity due to the harness that kept her secret from the world, but in a way, it was soothing. Once done preening, she whirled them in quick, huge clockwise circles, warming the flight muscles while Castiel watched her critically, arms folded. "Take your time. If you catch a cramp in midflight, it'll ruin your whole day."

"And my night," laughed Laura. Though they tried to restrain Lyra's enthusiasm to short nighttime glides and static flapping for exercise, she often crept off to attempt flights on her own, usually ending in the sharp contraction of an unwarmed muscle. Laura would stay up at night to rub Bengay into the feathers.

"I'm done, I'm done! Let's go!" She began to march to the edge of the summit, but was stopped by her father's hand. "Watch me first." Castiel walked to the edge of cliff, kicking off wayward pebbles that caught the sharp wind outside the bubble and disappeared. Then, with a well-practiced movement, he jumped off the cliff and downstroked powerfully. On the second stroke, he caught air currents that would've ripped lesser creatures' wings off, wheeling in the air to carve a graceful, perfectly postured circle around the summit.

"Show off," muttered Lyra. She looked a bit paler.

"Nervous?" asked Laura gently, stroking Lyra's hair.

"No. Yes. Oh, I don't know."

"He makes it look easy because he's got millenia of experience on you," said Laura confidently. "Soon, you'll be just as good."

Lyra smiled at her mother. "Thanks, mom."

Castiel landed in front of them, folding his wings slightly. "Take-off check."

"Jump hard, time your downstroke, don't worry if you lose some altitude," recited Lyra. "Keep you head up, eyes open, back straight, and arms out of the way."

"Flight rules?"

"Don't fight the wind: use it. Don't look down until you're level. Don't be afraid of updrafts: you can always come back down. Avoid birds, clouds, and airplanes."

"Good. I think the last one goes without saying," smiled Castiel. "Alright, little miss. Step on up."

Lyra swallowed and stepped to the edge of the cliff. Peering over the edge, she gulped and glanced back at her watching parents. "Anyone wanna stop me?"

"Nope," said her mother flippantly, but compassionately. "You've been begging to do this since you could talk. You'll never forgive yourself if you back out now."

"I have faith in you," said Castiel.

Lyra took a really, really deep breath. Don't be a big chicken, she thought, mustering her courage. Eat one! "One," she quavered. "Two," she planted her feet to jump. "Three," wiggling her butt, she thought, No turning back! "Get off my grandma's apple treeeeee!"

And she jumped.

One downstroke. The wind was shrieking in her ears, even though her father's Grace kept her warm. If she didn't do something quick, she would tumble onto her back where her wings would be useless. She nearly panicked when her second downstroke, although it righted her, didn't seem to do any good. Gritting her teeth, she splayed her feathers wide, arched her back, and extended her arms.

FWOOSH! In a second, she was level and climbing. There it was! The wind billowed under her, buoyed her, and with her next flap began to work in her favor. It shocked her just how fine-tuned her movements had to be to maintain her desired path. Risking a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw her mother jumping up and down, pumping her fists. Her father was taking off to join her.

Mimicking what she'd seen before, Lyra tilted, banking jerkily. Her heart pounded, and her eyes were big as saucers. "Good job!" called Castiel from behind.

"I did it," Lyra whispered. Then, exultantly, "I DID IT!"

"You did it!" shouted Laura as her family soared overhead. The father and daughter continued to play in the sky, under the joyful, teary gaze of Laura. Wiping the tears, she smiled fit to break her face. "I knew you could, darlin'."