Out in the hall, Sam and Dean bang their heads together -- with Sam noticeably directing the conversation down the path he'd like it to follow -- until Dean understands they're looking at "organ theft" rather than "zombie lunch," and with that, they head off in search of an attack survivor...

...Whom they find on a hospital bed, still recovering from the unwitting and unwilling kidney donation he endured not too long ago. Long story short, Kidney Guy was feeding his meter when someone jumped him from behind, and the next thing he knew, he was strapped down on a table for some unanaesthetized surgery, during which he thankfully passed out and after which he awoke "in some No-Tell motel in a bathtub full of ice" minus a renal organ or two. Next!

Back at this week's motel, Ravenous El Deano's about to tuck into a delicious-looking cheeseburger when College Boy announces he's found something of interest on the Intertubes. Given we've found ourselves staring at a website entitled "Medical Procedures Of The 19th Century," I'm guessing this conversation leads to an unhappy end for Dean and his dinner. Sure enough, Sam points out that Kidney Guy's incision was sutured with silk thread, which was the cause of numerous resultant infections during the Victorian Era, so physicians of the period spread maggots across the affected areas to devour the diseased tissue. "Tasty!" shrieks Raoul, predictably enough. "Oh, do hush up, you tedious little man!" Raoul snorts, tossing an affronted side-eye in my general direction while two perfect circles of smoke spiral out from his nostrils. "I do believe I've forgotten more than you'll ever know about fine dining!" I don't doubt that for an instant, my scaly friend. Now, might I continue? "Please do! If this evening's delightful entertainment involves maggots, we must arrive at the appropriate scenes posthaste!" Not a problem. "Thanks! Now chop-chop!"

Rrrrgh. So, where the hell was I? Oh, yeah: Seems one or both of tonight's victims were found with their respective body cavities "stuffed full of maggots," as Sam excitedly describes it, and... "WHY were we not witness to THAT?!" Raoul roars, feeling cheated, and -- dude! Do you want me to get to the good parts already, or what? "Oh, I do apologize most sincerely! Please carry on!" Thank you. "Don't mention it! Hee!" SO ANYWAY, when Dean realizes this all sounds terribly familiar, Sam grins that it should, as their worthless bastard of a so-called father wrote extensively about just such a case in his demonic day-planner. "Doc Benton," Darling Sammy narrates as he flips the day-planner in question over to El Deano for the latter's perusal, was a "real-life doctor who lived in New Hampshire." Both "brilliant and obsessed with alchemy -- especially how to live forever," the good doctor abandoned his practice in 1816 to vanish for 20 years, after which his former townsfolk started turning up either completely dead or simply missing an organ here and there, or possibly a hand or two. "'Cause whatever he was doing was actually working," Dean recalls correctly. "He just kept on ticking, and when parts would wear out, he'd replace them." One thing, though -- didn't Sucky John off the guy by ripping out his heart? Sam shrugs that The Frankendoc must've just plugged in a replacement after the coast was clear. So, wait a minute -- you're telling me their worthless bastard of a so-called father encountered and subdued a supposedly immortal monster and did not proceed to cremate it? GOD, John sucks. Like, even more than I already thought he did. In ANY event, Sam notes The Frankendoc prefers to situate his various lairs in heavily wooded areas with easy access to fresh, free-flowing water, the better to dispose of "the bile and intestines and fecal matter" from his victims. Dean -- who'd been perfectly fine during the whole maggot discussion -- blanches at this last bit and nearly sets aside his delicious-looking cheeseburger before thinking better of the entire situation and noisily continuing to chow down. Atta boy.