Dean makes grumpy noises in response, so Sam flaps his hands around in the air and disappears into the bathroom just as Dean's time with the Magic Fingers expires. There's a bit of business regarding his need for more quarters before he joins Sam in the bathroom to get the skinny on the homicidal whore, and long story short, the facts of the case are these: The guy Gloria offed was a campus librarian named Carl who had no priors, lots of friends, and an active role in his church. Gloria herself, despite being locked up in the nuthouse, appears to be entirely sane -- at peace, even -- though she does admit to all of the classic symptoms of religious ecstasy, including euphoria and all that. "So, Gloria's just your standard-issue whacko?" Dean asks. "I mean, she wouldn't be the first nutjob in history to kill in the name of religion, know what I mean?" "No," Sam snots, fussily folding his jacket for some bizarre reason, "but she's the second in town to murder because an angel told them to -- little bit odd, don't you think?" "Odd?" Dean repeats before answering his own question with "Yeah," and going on to add, "Supernatural? Maybe. But angels? Nah." "Why not?" Sam snaps, and Dean's all, "Uh, 'cause there's no such thing, dumbass?" and Sam sighs with barely concealed frustration and condescension and lectures, "There's ten times as much lore about angels as there is about anything else we've ever hunted." Dean does not snap back that mass-market paperbacks by Doreen Virtue hardly count as "lore," but chooses instead to counter, "There's a ton of lore on unicorns, too -- in fact, I hear that they ride on silver moonbeams and shoot rainbows outta their ass!" "Wait," Sammy bleats, all faux-gutted as he settles onto one of the beds, "there's no such thing as unicorns?"