Stronger Than Ever Δ SPN [3]

073. HOLIDAYS

Nathan and Ophelia walk into the library, stopping when they see an older woman and Dean in there.

"Um..." Ophelia points to the woman.

"Yeah, hey." Sam rushes in after hearing Dean call his name. "I was, uh... uh... hi?" He looks at the unknown woman confused. "Dean, what's going on?"

"Well, I was walking into my room, about to, uh, dive into my Dean Deluxe. I look up and there she is, folding my, uh, underthings." Dean says.

""Underthings"? Sorry, I didn't we know we just transported to Little House on the Prairie." Ophelia sasses.

"He means his Scooby-Doo underwear." Libby says, walking in and eating an Eggo.

"How do you know about those?" Dean asks.

"I didn't." Libby grins, Dean realizing he just told everybody about the cartoon under himself.

"Well, if you'd folded them probably to begin with." The woman tells Dean.

"I'm sorry. Who are you?" Sam asks.

"My true name is-- oh, it's hardly decipherable in your tongue. Mr. Ganem called me Mrs. Butters." The woman informs, giggling.

"Oh, Mrs. Butters." Dean mutters.

"Wait, our tongue? So, w-what? You're not human?" Sam asks.

"Oh, no. No, no." Mrs. Butters shakes her head. "I'm a wood nymph."

"What the hell is a wood nymph?" Libby quietly asks her father. Before he can explain, Mrs. Butters lets out a sharp gasp.

"Young lady, watch that language." Mrs. Butters looks at Libby in disappointment.

"Wha-- what the--" Libby looks between everybody, confused.

"Okay, well, shouldn't you be in the woods somewhere, nymphing?" Dean asks.

"Well, alas... that is a young one's game. But no, no, I have much more important things to do. And besides, I live here." Mrs. Butters states.

"Have we been living with a random chick for, like, five years and really not known?" Nathan asks.

"Okay, so-so you're a Man of-- uh, you're a Lady of Letters?" Sam asks.

"Woman of Letters. You already have two. Right next to you." Ophelia reminds.

"Sorry." Sam mumbles.

"Oh, God, no." Mrs. Butters chuckles. "I was never a member, no. No, no. No, I was more of a helper. I, uh, took care of the cleaning and laundry and the cooking. The Men of Letters, though highly intelligent, were oblivious to the necessities of life. But they were my boys. My family."

"Well, that's very progressive. Uh, well, we don't want any trouble, so you can just leave." Dean says.

"Leave? But-- this is-- this is my home. Well, I have worked for the Men of Letters since before the war." Mrs. Butters states.

"The war? What year do you think it is?" Sam asks.

"1958." Mrs. Butter states.

"oh." Dean mumbles.

"Oh, boy." Ophelia mutters at the same time.

"Well, afraid to tell you, but it's, uh... it's 2020." Dean states.

"It-- well-- then-- well, where is Mr. Markham? Mr. Ackers? Where-where are the rest of the Men of Letters?" Mrs. Butters asks.

"I assume Heaven... but they could be in Hell." Libby says. "Don't know if all of them were dicks or just the one, so..." Sam nudges her.