I don't think there was much screaming. If any. Two of them, he did in a hotel room. If there'd been real screaming, it would've— [That is nothing reassuring, he realizes halfway through it, stops himself, tries to find a way to explain it without possibly pissing on a ritual further.] —it wasn't actually that. It was reminiscent of it. He was—he was making his angels from secular sources. They weren't accurate to any one thing. It was a brain tumor in someone who'd never religious.

[The way Will talks about him has a distinct lack of loathing that some might expect, sounds like he's been doing this work a long, long time. That's the easiest way to take it, not that Will relates to this angel maker. Uncomfortably more so now.]

But we found him. He— [morbid train coming through] —turned himself into an angel, strung up in a barn. He's out of the picture now.

[Because he's extremely dead, not because Will actually caught him. But hey, at least he's not massacring pagan rituals, right?]