Disclaimer: I don't own them, I'm just playing with them, don't sue me.
Author's Note: Okay, so the bunnies apparently like Henry more than I did and wouldn't leave me alone until this story was written. It's not completely kosher with canon, but oh well. Based on this photo edit:
Henry sat at the dingy motel table, going over his son's hunting journal, reading about his son's quest to avenge his wife, a woman his grandsons said was part of a distinguished hunter family, the Campbells. Henry had met members of the Campbell family before, they'd been some of the Men of Letters most trusted hunters, John could've done worse. Though, try as he might, he couldn't find any real details as to what had happened to his daughter-in-law in the journal or from his grandsons, they'd only say that she was killed by a demon.
A sudden noise drew his attention to the two sleeping figures in the sleeping area of the room. His grandsons, Lord, he had grandsons and they were hunters, not Men of Letters like they should've been, though he doubted that Dean would've made the order; he seemed like a man of action, he would've found the order stifling. Sam, on the other hand, seemed more like someone that would thrive in the order. Henry didn't know his grandson terribly well, but he could see that Sam had a great aptitude and intelligence, the Elders would've drooled to get their hands on him and cultivate that intelligence. Heck, Sam might have been part of the highest order already if things had gone the way they should have.
Right now, though, Dean was sounding like a chainsaw and it was making it hard for Henry to focus on learning about the son he'd apparently missed raising, and he wasn't the only one.
He watched as Sam roused himself, reached over and threw a pillow over his head and nailed Dean in the face with it, all without doing more than rolling over.
"Hgnh? Wha?" Dean mumbled after the pillow attack.
"Roll over, Dude. You're snoring again," Sam said before dozing off again. To Henry's amusement, that's exactly what Dean did, curling around the pillow that had just been used as a projectile on him. It was also stunning, and a little frightening, to see Sam's dead aim, even mostly asleep.
Henry sighed and returned to his reading, the more he read, the more determined he was to get home and fix this. He couldn't let John become a hunter and lose his wife to a demon. He couldn't let his grandchildren be raised on the road; that was no life for a child. He had to find a way to get back to 1958 and stop Abbadon and save his son and grandsons. That's what you did for family.