In any event, as Dashing El Deano babbles about viruses and disease trajectories and whatnot, Darling Sammy fumbles through various feminine hygiene products in the can until he pulls an ominous-looking cloth bag out from beneath the sink, and his remarkably broad-shouldered self reemerges into the bedroom proper just as Philandering Paul's vaguely insisting that no one could possibly want to harm his poor, cheated-on, and recently deceased wife. In fact, "everyone loved" her, or so he stresses, but something in the tone of his faltering voice leads Our Intrepid Heroes to exchange Looks Fraught With Significance. Dean thanks the worthless man-slut for the latter's time, and the boys head out into the rain to yammer about Philandering Paul's suspicious demeanor while also examining the "hex bag" Darling Sammy found in the bathroom. "Awwww, gross," Dean mopes, picking open the bag to reveal the bird bones and rabbit's teeth that comprise its contents. Part of the wrapping, incidentally, is likely cut from a piece of cloth Dead Janet owned, just in case you're the sort of bizarre freak who wants to try this at home. "So we're thinking witch?" Dean guesses. "Yep," Sam basically agrees as the two settle into the Impala's front seat with a matched pair of weary grunts. After a beat, Dean pivots to face Sam and announce quite sincerely, "I hate witches -- always spewing their bodily fluids everywhere? It's downright unsanitary!" Try recapping it for six...nah, too easy. "That's never stopped you before!" Cram it, Raoul. "There's no call to get snippy, I'm sure!"