Sam has always loved the night sky, all the stars spread out across the expanse like eternity displayed right there for anyone who is looking. He likes to think that Dean has always loved it too, but something in him that knows his brother knows that Dean loves the practical and the present, things like cars and beer and girls and not the abstract hopefulness of the stars. So they drink beer on the hood of the Impala while looking at the stars, and it is a compromise.
Dean has always loved explosions, big booms and blowing things up with a thrill of danger and excitement mixed together. He likes to think that Sam has always loved them too, but something in him that knows his brother knows that Sam loves safety and security, things like libraries and information and laws of physics and not the adrenaline of engineering dangerous explosions. So they go to an empty field in the middle of the night and explode fireworks on the Fourth of July, and it is a compromise.
Tonight though, there are no compromises. Sam has fallen off the edge of safety and Dean is carrying Sam's hope for him, and the world is shuddering in preparation for a cosmic event while the two of them lock eyes.
"Please," Dean says, and Sam knows his brother is strong enough to carry them both to safety.
"Help me," Sam's eyes say, and Dean knows his brother is hoping again, even if it is only a thin hope at best.
They reunite in a strong hug, and if Sam is falling apart a little at the edges or if Dean holds on a little bit past the chick flick mark, nobody notices. After all, their reunion is an invisible explosion of hope, the kind it takes supernatural eyes to see. It is a compromise of their deepest selves, beautiful - and heartbreaking, because this is not the end.
No, the end is this - Dean carries his brother outside to the car that is home, and Sam thinks he can see the hope in the stars shining brilliantly again. He is delirious though; and mistaken.
Above them, the angels fall from heaven.