"Cute," Dean eye-rolls before insisting that there are some legends "you file under bullcrap," because you can't say "bullshit" on broadcast television. "And you got angels on the bullcrap list?" Sam incredulously enunciates. "Why?" And Dean then launches into a justification I'll not be transcribing word-for-word that basically boils down to this: He's never seen one, and he doesn't know anyone he considers to be trustworthy who's encountered one either, and since their line of work is what it is, if angels exist, the hunters' network would have been all over their gloriously lit asses decades ago, so long story short, whatever's afflicting Providence at the moment is either demonic or spectral in nature, and that is the end of that. And you know what? He's totally, completely correct about the ENTIRE situation, so WHY DO I HAVE TO PLOD THROUGH THE CRISIS-OF-FAITH CRAP THAT TAKES UP THE VAST MAJORITY OF THE REST OF THE HOUR? "You're getting paid for it?" SHUT UP RAOUL NO ONE ASKED FOR YOUR OPINION. "Well!" Raoul huffs. "If you're going to be that way about it!" "Though honestly," Raoul confesses regardless, "it really makes absolutely no sense for Darling Sammy so suddenly to take the side of the angels in this situation -- and against evidence that points towards a far more pedestrian solution to the supernatural matter at hand, namely salting and burning some wretch's bones! I can't remember the last time we were treated to a delightful scene celebrating the Winchesters' fondness for pyromania!" You know what? Neither can I. Oh, whatever. I can't figure out what the hell they were thinking when they wrote this episode, so let's keep this moving.
Dean drops the whole pointless argument to propose a little trip over to Gloria's hole of an apartment, but Sam's already been there and found no sulphur or EMF. However, there is the unresolved matter of the sign Gloria supposedly received at this Carl person's house, so Our Intrepid Heroes hop into the Impala for the quick drive over to Carl's former abode. Upon disembarking, Dean almost immediately spots a large plastic angel on Carl's former front porch, right next to the door. "It's a sign from up above," Dean snarks, "always take down your Christmas decorations after New Year's, or you might get filleted by a hooker from God." Heh. Sam looks offended. "Shut up, Sam," grumbles Raoul. Raoul! So curt! "He deserves it," Raoul yawns, popping another Dexedrine into his impressive maw. Hee. After a few lengthy moments of pondering, Sam spots the padlocked outer doors to the house's cellar and, remembering what Gloria said about Carl being "guilty to his deepest foundations," proposes they pick the lock and see what they can find. And what they find in that dank, enclosed space after copious amounts of flashlight-fu is a section of the stone wall scarred with gouges left by some unfortunate soul's fingernails. DUN! In fact, Sam digs around in the crumbling mortar for a bit and pulls out an actual Lee Glamour Length Fancy Fingers Press-On. DUN! Again! Some more! The boys heave "here we go again" sighs at each other and grab a couple of suspiciously handy shovels to start digging into the cellar's earthen floor.