Night. Sam and Dean -- having somehow magically freed themselves from their separate locked-down rooms -- scamper through the halls, intending to interrogate poor inappropriately attractive Ted regarding The Face-Eating Monster. Unfortunately, The Face-Eating Monster's reached poor inappropriately attractive Ted first, and by the time Our Dear Boys manage to pick the lock on Ted's door, Poor Inappropriately Attractive Ted's turned into Dead Inappropriately Attractive Ted. D'OH! As Our Intrepid Heroes gasp and gape, Dead Ted dangles from his bedsheet noose until his inappropriately attractive corpse swings straight into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Madhouse Morgue. Sam and Dean -- looking mighty spiffy, indeed, in their tight white v-necked t-shirts -- roll Dead Ted out of his chilly drawer and proceed to examine the corpse for any unusual signs of trauma, which Sam detects almost immediately. It's a small, stippled hole at the base of Dead Ted's skull, so Super-Smart Sammy retrieves a handy cotton swab from a nearby tray and inserts the thing into the wound. Get this: The hole goes back all the way into the guy's brain. "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" I thought that might please you, my faithful lizardly companion, but it gets better. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Yep, while Dean stands tense guard out in the hall, College Boy snatches up a handy skull saw and hacks off the top of Dead Ted's head. "VIOLENCE! WANTON ACTS OF UNREPENTANT FORENSIC VIOLENCE AND GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And then? Sam squishily extracts Dead Ted's desiccated brain from the gaping hole he just hacked through the top of Dead Ted's head. "EEEEEEEEEE!" And while Raoul writhes about atop his overstuffed armchair with near-ultrasonic amounts of glee, Dean hears forest noises emanating from elsewhere in the bughouse basement, so he scampers back inside the morgue proper to warn Sam that someone's coming. Sam hastily replaces Dead Ted's desiccated brain, screws the top of Dead Ted's head back on, shoves the corpse back into its drawer, and discards his bloody latex gloves in the hazards bin seconds before Nurse Diesel barges into the room. "What're you boys doing in here?" Nurse Diesel wonders, mellowly enough. Dean thinks fast, drops his pants, raises his arms above his head, and sings, "Pudding!" while bouncing up and down. Moist slappy sounds abound. "FILTHY!" shrieks Raoul, shocked and appalled, yet strangely excited at the same time. "It's true! I am!" Nurse Diesel simply rolls her eyes at Dean's calculatedly cracked behavior and orders them both to skedaddle, which they do after Dean pulls up his scrubs. No comment. "But...!" I said NO COMMENT. "Rats!"
Dayroom Of The Deranged. Dean, with positively manic levels of enthusiasm, marvels over Uncle Martin's therapeutic clown paintings for a very long while until Sam somewhat impatiently steers the conversation back to the matter at hand. The gentlemen bang their heads together until Uncle Martin finally realizes they're dealing with a Wraith. Which, you know, for the purposes of this evening's plot means -- roughly -- "someone who sucks brain juice out of crazy people's skulls." Lovely. "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it!" Don't front, mouse breath. "Well!" The good news? You can kill them with silver. The bad news? They can pass as humans, which of course means that everyone who is not Uncle Martin, Sam, Dean, or a corpse is now a suspect. Uncle Martin helpfully adds, however, that "lore says a Wraith will show its true form in a mirror," so Our Intrepid Heroes split up, with Dean taking mirror duty while Sam goes off in search of something made of genuine silver in a mental hospital. Good luck with that one, Sam.
A few minutes later, Dean's parked his tantalizing derriere outside the dayroom nurses' station, whose curved overhead mirror allows him to scrutinize everyone who passes within about twenty feet of the corner. Unfortunately, the voice inside his head chooses this moment to cozy on up next to him for a little chat, and again: Nice job from Michelle Harrison in the little scene that follows, but Dean's just talking to himself, so yawn. This time around, he basically bitches to himself about what a crappy life he's been forced to lead until he sympathizes with himself and decides to soldier on, no matter the personal cost. Or something like that. Totally doesn't matter, because Head Shrink ambles past towards the end of it all, and wouldn't you know it? His is the reflection Dean's been waiting for. DUN! Well, not really, because Dean is obviously crazy now, what with the talking to himself and the manic enthusiasm for second-rate John Wayne Gacy knockoffs and everything, but whatever. We've got to maintain some sort of tension through the rest of this episode somehow, don't we? "Says who?!" That's actually a pretty good point, Raoul. "Thanks!" Now hush up so we can get to the next few bouts of shocking violence, which are about all this episode has going for it from here on out. "Hooray!"
Mental Manor, later that evening. Sam's managed to snag a handful of silver-plated letter openers from the various nurses' stations, and while it seems more than a little odd that a place that's packed to the rafters with schizoids and psychos and various other freaks of insane nature would so casually leave sharp objects lying about, I don't have time to deal with that, because just as Sam's passing the dangerously pointy things to his increasingly unhinged compatriots, Nancy The Nubile Nympho struts on over to unload a gob of spit into Sam's mouth. Dean -- his fragile sense of self-esteem of course wounded by this wanton display -- goes, "Whaaaaaaa?" leading Nancy The Nubile Nympho to blithely explain, "I want him now -- he's larger." HA! "Atta girl!" Atta girl, indeed. And as Nancy The Nubile Nympho slinks back into the shadows from which she initially sauntered, Dean considers the situation for a moment, then shrugs, "You've had worse." Yes. Yes, Dean, Sam has had worse, and then he killed them all with his penis. "Naughty!" Hey, Raoul, cut me a break, here. I just call them like I see them. "Hee!"
Anyway, where were we? Oh, yeah: Sam passes out the wee little dangerously pointy implements of monstrous destruction, then instructs Uncle Martin on the particulars of the plan. Basically, they're going to wait until lights-out, then gank Head Shrink. Uncle Martin -- lulu as he is now in the wake of those never-explained events in Albuquerque -- freaks, flat-out balks at the idea of killing anyone, and bails to go soak it up in a hot tub with his soulmate, so Our Intrepid Heroes are left to their own devices. After confirming Head Shrink is still on the premises, Sam and Dean split up to search each of the building's wings alone, and Sam soon enough finds himself lying in wait in a darkened corridor as Head Shrink, his attention focused on the charts in his hands, obliviously rounds a corner to find... "VIOLENCE!" Yep, Deluxe Action Sammy With Super-Special Glow-In-The-Dark Psychiatrist-Slicing Hands leaps from his hiding place to hack away at Head Shrink's conveniently bared forearm with the silver-plated letter opener until two orderlies fly in from out of nowhere to subdue him, in the process getting their burly asses handed to them. "VIOLENCE! WANTON ACTS OF UNEXPECTEDLY EFFECTIVE UNREPENTANT VIOLENCE!" For yes, gentle reader, just as we know that Something's Not Quite Right With Dashing El Deano, w