Immediately afterwards, we land in the nuthouse's dayroom with the boys, who are now clad in little more than t-shirts and scrub pants, the scant attire in which they will remain for the rest of the episode. There is a God. "Hallelujah!" I'll let that outburst of yours slide, Raoul, but only because I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment. "Praise Jesus!" Oh, for Christ's sake. "I feel the spirit!" If he puts on his church hat... "My soul says yes!" ...I am walking away from this recap and never coming back. "Speak to me, Lord!" YOU CAN STOP ANYTIME YOU FEEL LIKE IT, RAOUL. "Ooops! Sorry! Hee!" "How was your Silkwood shower?" Dean opens -- rather appropriately, if you ask me, given the fact that sitting next to Raoul while the dizzy lizard's getting his God on is an experience quite similar in levels of unpleasantness. "Hey!" Oh, cram it.
Now, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: Darling Sammy gamely bright-sides something enthusiastic-sounding about the excellent water pressure before delicately inquiring, "Did the nurse...?" "She was very thorough," Dean hastily replies, vigorously nodding his head, and Our Intrepid Heroes "Yip-yip-yip!" at each other in agreement regarding Nurse Diesel's thoroughness for a very long period of time until Dean finally settles into this evening's necessary exposition. Long story short, at Sam's insistence, they got themselves thrown into the loony bin as a favor for one of their worthless bastard of a so-called father's old hunting buddies -- a fellow named Martin who apparently hasn't been the same since some never-explained incident in Albuquerque -- and after a pointless exchange involving how well Dean is not dealing with the spectacularly explosive demise of The Harvelle Girls, Our Dear Boys amble over to a relatively secluded corner of the dayroom to chat with this Martin person, and they find themselves face-to-face with Uncle Rico. "Who?!" Never mind. "Okay!" Anyway, Uncle Martin, while acknowledging he's devolved into little more than "a bag of loose screws" over the last couple of years since he committed himself, nevertheless insists something supernatural's afoot at Glenwood Springs, as there have been five deaths amongst the inmates in the last four months, and although he himself hasn't caught a glimpse of the creature he believes is responsible, a few of the other whackjobs in the ward have. Dean, of course, questions the reliability of these whackjob witnesses, but Uncle Martin firmly vouches for each and every one of them, so Sam swiftly moves on to the next order of business. "Have you checked any of the bodies?" he asks. "Found signs of an attack?" Uncle Martin blanches, blinks, and eventually stutters that he d-d-doesn't g-g-go around d-d-dead b-b-bodies anymore. He'd elaborate, I'm sure, were it not for the fact that Head Shrink bumbles in on the conversation at this very instant to invite "Alex" and "Mr. Creaser" to that morning's group therapy session. Sam and Uncle Martin obligingly rise from their teeny table to comply with Head Shrink's request, but when Dean also rises to tag along, Head Shrink bodily blocks his path to smile, "Actually, I'm going to be putting you in the afternoon group." Dean: "Buh?" Head Shrink: "Well, to be frank, the relationship that you have with your brother seems...dangerously codependent. I think a little time apart would do you both good." HA! I'd tell Head Shrink to preach it, but I'm afraid Raoul might use that as an excuse to slap on yet another of his church hats and start speaking in tongues. "ULULULULULULULULULULULULU!" Crap.
Group Therapy. "So, who would like to start us off?" Head Shrink asks. That baggy-eyed bit of inappropriately attractive scruff from the top of the hour shoots his hand into the air all, "Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!" but Head Shrink studiously ignores him until it's clear no one else has anything to say. "All right, Ted," Head Shrink allows, thereby gifting the scruff with his character name for the remainder of the evening before cautioning, "Calm down." "I am calm," Ted replies, not terribly calm at all, of course, "and I'd like to calmly talk about the monster that's hunting us!" Darling Sammy hoists an eyebrow into the air while tossing A Look Fraught With Significance at Uncle Martin as Head Shrink chides Ted for attempting to introduce what has obviously been a disruptive topic in the past into this morning's discussion. "It's not good for Group," Head Shrink reminds his loopy charge. Ted somewhat reluctantly agrees with the good doctor before hastening to add, "You know what else isn't good for Group? A monster eating all our faces off!" Hee. "I saw it," Ted blurts, shouting over Head Shrink's objections, "when it killed Susan!" Of course, Ted's panicky demeanor proves instantly infectious, and others in the circle begin yammering hysterically about lobster claws and The X-Files and whatnot until Head Shrink screams, "That's ENOUGH!" With the room rendered momentarily silent, Head Shrink once again rips off his reading glasses to show them all that psychotherapy is SRS BSNS while leaning forward to emphasize, "Nutjobs! There is no monster!" Taken aback by the good doctor's suddenly harsh tone, Darling Sammy directs The Super-Special Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Brrrrrrow? in Head Shrink's general direction whilst the unreasonably nasty gentleman in question threatens poor inappropriately attractive Ted with some orderly intervention. Ted quickly backs down, so there's little left for Darling Sammy to do but toss Yet Another Look Fraught With Significance at Uncle Martin until the camera decides it's had enough of this meaningful-glances bullshit and zips back to...
...the dayroom, where Dean's enthusiastically playing Checkers with himself for some bizarre reason as a female voice calls out, "Eddie?" Dean lifts his luxuriously lashed doe eyes in the direction from which the voice originated to find a rather severe-looking brunette smiling down at him. "I'm Doctor Erika Cartwright," the severe brunette announces. "I've been assigned your case?" And as Doctor Cartwright takes a seat opposite Our Intrepid Hero, I should note that at this point, viewers in the know would have recognized that Something's Not Quite Right With Dashing El Deano, for this good doctor's name just happens to be the feminine version of Foghat's guitarist's. "You mean she's...!?" A mere figment of Dean's increasingly addled imagination? Yes, my impressively fanged companion, that's exactly what I mean. "Well! I certainly never saw that one coming!" I'll resist the urge to reply "That's what she said!" and instead admit that the reference flew past me, too, the first time I watched this episode. Then again, I was battling back a triple-digit fever last Thursday evening, so I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of references flew past me the first time I watched this episode. Sorry if I ruined the surprise for you, though. "Worry not!" Good. "By the by...!" Yes? "What on earth is a 'fog hat'?!" Don't play dumb, you dizzy lizard. Dean's better at it than you are. "Hee!"
Now, where was I? Oh, yes: A leering grin spreads across Dean's face as he realizes, "You're my shrink? Lucky me!" "And you're my paranoid schizophrenic with a narcissistic personality disorder and religious psychosis!" Doctor Foghat grins back, not missing a beat, and since I can't pretend I don't know that the ensuing conversation takes place solely in Dean's head, and since nothing Dean says to himself here has any bearing on subsequent events in the episode, I'll simply note that Michelle Harrison's doing a terrific job subtly matching Jensen Ackles's tone, timing, and general energy levels, so that the character she's playing ends up, in retrospect (or upon second viewing, or whatever), seeming like an entirely reasonable external embodiment of the voice he would have in his head when he's sparring with himself, while not at the same time coming off as some totally weird perfect female version of Dean. "[A-him!]" Yes, Raoul? You have something to add? "I do! That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever!" Oh, go tell it to your own self -- it made sense in my head. "Hee!"
ANY-way, a little while later, Our Intrepid Heroes meet in the hallway for a brief processing summit that's rudely interrupted when the asylum's resident nymphomaniac sidles