The hospital. Ted, Emmett, and the doctor are in the waiting room. The doctor asks whether they know what Blake was on. Emmett, reading a magazine, mutters that it was crystal meth. On the doc's look, Emmett shrugs, "I can tell." The doctor says that they have Blake on an IV, and that they'll keep him overnight, but that he should be able to go home tomorrow. Ted thanks him, and the doctor moves on. As he gets up and puts on his jacket, Emmett sighs, "Okay, Nurse Nightingale, you did your good deed, just like a heartwarming episode of...something. Now let's get out of here." Ted says that they can't just leave Blake there. Emmett: "Like the way he left you?" Ted's like, well, what if something happens to him? Well, he's in the hospital, already, and that's kind of what they specialize in. Emmett asks why the hell Ted cares: "It's not like he's your best friend. You don't even know his last name!" Ted stubbornly sits down in a chair anyway. Emmett says he's going, whether Ted stays or not.
The Demon's Lair. The Demon skulks in, probably certain that a cell phone call from Brian has preceded him, telling Michael that his Master is a hypocritical, cheatin', two-timing, lying bastard hypocrite. Mike's in bed, and greets his favorite Hellspawn with a dopey smile. Damn. No phone call, I guess. Demon nervously asks when Mike got in. Mike says it was a little while ago. Demon -- is he sweating? Bonus. -- asks how Babylon was, "Did you see any cute guys?" Mike gets out of bed and grins that he didn't see any that interested him. Demon leans on the dresser for support. Mike asks Demon if he wants some milk and Oreos. Demon grabs him and kisses him, because he's a guilt-ridden piece of shit. He throws Mike up against the wall, pulls Mike's pajama bottoms down, and gets down on his knees. Mike's surprised, but under the circumstances, takes it very well.
Debbie's, the next morning. Debbie -- wearing a pink t-shirt that reads, "I like fags" --yells up the stairs for Justin. Justin bounces down and takes a seat at the breakfast table next to Vic. Debbie's like, I've been yelling for you for the last ten minutes. Justin replies, "I know you think because I'm young, you think I can just tumble out of bed and look like this." Vic: "I don't see why not. I tumble out of bed and look like this." Ha! Justin laughs and continues, "Yeah, well, you're wrong. Even at my age, it takes time and preparation." Debbie reminds him that it might be a little easier if he didn't stay out partying until three in the morning. Vic gazes at Justin for a second and then gestures to Debbie. Debbie pauses, and then grabs a letter off of he kitchen shelf. She hands it Justin. It's from the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts. Gasp! I wonder if he got in? Justin can't bring himself to open the envelope. Because, you know, what if television history is turned on its head and he didn't get in? Debbie says that she'll open it. Which she does. And reads, with a downcast expression on her face. Oh, gee. I guess Justin didn't get in. Off to Dartmouth with him, then. Debbie smiles, handing Justin the letter, "Congratulations, Picasso." Oh my God! He got into the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts! In Pittsburgh! Where the show is set! What are the odds, huh?