He hops off of the swing and walks around so that he's standing in front of Sam. The grass and flowers follow him when he walks, leaving a little trail behind in the playground sawdust.

"Don't be afraid," he says, then rolls his vessel's shoulders back and lets his wings unfurl in a rush like thunderclaps. They expand out and out, three sets of graceful, feathered shadows arching out in a good twenty-foot wingspan, curving up and around Sam Winchester until they bracket him beside and above.

He lets them stay out, inky black and quivering, for several long seconds before winching them back in.