"So, I've decided that it's time to stop being so low-key and re-announce my presence to the world!" Chuck said brightly, gesturing with his beer can. "And you, Sam, will be The Sign!"

"Of what?" Sam demanded testily. Across the room, a sulky Lucifer stuck his tongue out at him.

"Of my Word!"

"Dude. You're a prophet, not God," Sam muttered. He paused at the awkward silence that followed. Michael cleared his throat tactfully. "What?" Sam demanded.

"Sam. That is indeed our Father," Michael intoned gravely. Sam raised an eyebrow as he looked back at Chuck, who beamed.

"Okay, and you didn't think to mention this sooner?" Sam demanded. "You know, before I made my heroic leap into this stupid hole?"

"You didn't leap," Michael pointed out. "I pushed you."

"And it was totally unfair, by the way!" Lucifer pouted. "How am I supposed to compete with a vintage '67 Impala?"

"Lucy, how many times do I have to tell you? You can't beat the antique cars, little bro," Michael sighed.

"Whatever!" Sam exploded. "You're telling me that you've been here all along? Why didn't you say so, huh? Why couldn't you have shown your face earlier?"

"Uh..you didn't ask?" Chuck suggested after a moment or two have gone by. He shrugged at the livid expression on Sam's face. "Oh, who cares."

"I care! I'm stuck here!"

"No, you're not," Chuck said, rolling his eyes. "Look, it's all part of The Plan, okay? So chill out. Like I said, you're going to be My Word On Earth. I have Great Faith in you!"

"Stop using capital letters!"

And with that defiant cry, a flash of bright light enveloped everything, because one thing that God learned from the whole Chuck experience is that nothing works better than a cliche.

x

"SAMMY!"

The look on Dean's face...Sam opened his arms, expecting a big brotherly hug of the "I just went to hell and back" type, because nothing makes fangirls squeal more than a big bromancey hug. Instead, Dean stared at him with his mouth open, his eyebrows rising higher and higher every second. "What?" Sam demanded after a moment.

"Dude," Dean said. "You've got wings."

Now that Dean mentioned it, Sam was aware of a slight draft of wind behind him and new muscles that he never noticed before. He flapped his wings tentatively, feeling them flex in response. "Oh," he said brightly, vowing revenge against Chuck. God. Whatever.

"You look like..."

"What?"

"A peeled banana," Dean concluded finally, for beholde, the winges of the Samme were indeed a bright daisy yellow. "Hang on, I've got to take a picture of this," Dean added as he pulled out his cellphone.

"Dean!"

"Oh, come on! Think of the tumblr macros!"

Cas wandered up to add his two cents to the conversation. "This is a sign of the blessed," the angel of the lord intoned. "Our Father is here."

"They're yellow. YELLOW!" Dean cried.

Cas stared at him. He stared some more. Sam scowled as Cas continued to stare like the useless lump he was while Dean took pictures enthusiastically from every possible angle. "Dude!" Sam tried. "A little help? A little smiting would be nice!"

"I wouldn't smite the blessed," Cas said primly. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Ignore him. He's just jealous," Dean said as he gleefully examined the pictures. "It's an angel thing."

"Meaning?!" Sam demanded.

"Oh, c'mon! Your wings are way bigger than his."

"Big's not always better!" Cas protested, hunching in on himself. "Big wings can easily tangle, cause unnecessary obstructions, accidentally hit people in the head, not to mention the fire hazard--"

"Like I said. Jealous!"