A/N: Wow, thank you so much to everyone who's followed, favorited, and reviewed! Here's the next installment, and shout-out to 29-pieces-of-me for helping me figure out how exactly the Winchesters were gonna pull off this rescue...

Also, to guest anon gifter, that sounds like an incredibly entertaining dream! I'm not at all opposed to people approaching me with plot bunnies or proposals, though my caveat is that they'll probably have to sit on the back burner for a bit. And if it doesn't catch, I'm happy to pass the idea on to someone I think might like it. =)

4

The flames of holy fire fluttered low and steadily, yet their benign simmering belied the strength of their power. Castiel could not pass through the ring.

"This is familiar, isn't it?" crooned a deceptively soft, feminine voice. A staunch figure stood on the other side of the fire, tailored suit immaculate, black hair perfectly straight and balanced on rigid shoulders. Nearly black eyes bored into Castiel with an almost chilled detachment.

The Winchesters often accused angels of being 'emotionless dicks,' but just because most didn't outwardly show their emotions didn't mean they weren't capable of having any. And Castiel knew that Raphael was positively gloating on the inside.

"And now you're—what was the phrase you used?" the archangel continued. "Ah yes, now you're my little bitch."

Castiel clenched his fists where they hung at his sides. He was mentally cursing himself for falling into this situation. He'd received word from one of Raphael's supporters who wanted to defect. The angel was frightened though, and wanted to meet Castiel alone. Balthazar had thrown a fit.

"Do you have a bloody death wish, or are you just that naive?"

"How is Ananias supposed to trust us if I don't show him the same?" Castiel had argued. Oh, he was rueing that decision now. It was very difficult to fight honorably when one's opponent had no such inclinations. Castiel was beginning to see that perhaps he thought too much of his brothers. Ananias was here, along with seven of Raphael's followers, all standing along the periphery and watching as their leader finally triumphed over the rebel. There was no escape this time, not unless God intervened… Hadn't He meant for this to be Castiel's mission, though? How could he fail?

Perhaps his army would continue the fight after his death. Castiel even had the fleeting thought that Balthazar might take up the mantle of leadership…but that was even less likely than his first thought. Castiel felt a pang of remorse for all those who were depending on him, whom he was trying to protect. The Winchesters, especially…

Raphael stepped to the edge of the circle of fire. "There's just one thing missing from this picture." He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. A crushing weight slammed down on Castiel's shoulders, knocking the breath from his vessel. He tried to resist, but the force pushed harder until his knees wavered under the stress. And then they gave out, and Castiel hit the cement floor of the warehouse hard, the impact jarring up through his bones.

"That's better," Raphael said. "I told you that you would kneel."

Gritting his teeth, Castiel put every last drop of strength into lifting his head against the invisible yoke, and glared defiantly. The archangel could break his vessel's legs, could pile ten thousand tons of rock upon his shoulders to force his body to bow, but Castiel would never submit.

Raphael saw this, and it briefly cracked his calm exterior. He lifted his hand again, and Castiel braced himself for the next attack, but Raphael hesitated and cast a glance over his shoulder. Some of the pressure holding Castiel down eased, though he still couldn't rise. It took a moment of regaining his breath for him to hear what had distracted Raphael. Music. A soft, soothing chord strum upon a lyre. It was such a strange and unexpected occurrence, that every angel in the place had stopped and tilted their heads to listen.

Castiel wanted to take the chance to regroup, to frantically run through his options, but he found himself drawn to the notes that echoed through the warehouse. It couldn't be…he hadn't heard that particular harp played in thousands of years. Peace ebbed and flowed around Castiel's awareness, brushing his mind and drawing a little piece of him back with it each time the chords crescendoed. He knew he shouldn't give in, that he was vulnerable and in grave peril, yet the tug was irresistible. His vision blurred, the individual flames of the holy fire melding into a warm orange haze. It was no longer threatening, and with the next note, Castiel was carried away.

o.0.o

Dean held his breath as he stepped into the warehouse. This was probably one of their more crazy-ass plans—using the friggin' Harp of David to send a bunch of murderous angels into dreamland so Dean could sneak right past them to rescue Cas. Who would also be entranced by the lyre. Dean hoped he wouldn't have to physically carry the angel out. And he hoped Sam's fingers didn't fumble on the harp and break the enchantment. And that it worked on archangels, because Balthazar hadn't been too sure of that when he loaned them the harp after telling them about Castiel's fool errand.

Dean kept up a constant mental litany of curses at dick angels, dumb-ass best-friends, and anything else that came to mind. That, plus the earplugs jammed into his ears, kept him from hearing the harp's song and falling under its allure.

He paused when he first caught sight of the angels, all of them standing around with glazed expressions, as though someone had plucked them out of time and left them frozen. No, not frozen. Dean crept warily past the closest angel, and saw a single tear slowly trickling down his cheek. The distant look in his eye seemed…happy. Dean glanced at the next angel and found the same. This was too weird.

Shaking his head, he turned toward the flickering ring of holy fire, the only other thing in this place that was actually moving. Dean's heart stuttered at the sight of Cas on his knees in the center, also with an absent look on his face. Dean hurried forward, only to pull up short as he recognized Raphael's new vessel standing in front of the circle. The archangel was just as subdued as the others, except the eyes, which were blinking, albeit very slowly. Crap, what if he was able to snap out of it?

Dean turned back to the ring of holy fire and quickly grabbed a packing blanket off a nearby crate to put the flames out. Then he knelt down in front of Cas and took the angel's face in his hands. "Cas?" Dean searched the vacant blue eyes, and let out a sigh. "Okay, man, can you stand?"

Dean didn't know why he was asking since it seemed Cas couldn't hear him anyway. Thankfully, though, when Dean moved his hands to Cas's shoulders and nudged him up, Cas stood with little effort.

"That's it," Dean coaxed, taking Cas's elbow and guiding him forward. Each step was slow, but Cas was easily led, like a mindless puppet that only moved with Dean's prompting. It was creepy.

"Stop," a raspy voice croaked out.

Dean whirled toward Raphael. The archangel was glaring at him now, tremors running through his facial muscles as his eyes shifted between focusing on them and dilating with distraction. Shit.

Dean tugged more sharply on Cas's arm, not that it did any good except to make the angel stumble. "Come on, buddy, you're doing great. Keep going." Dean's gaze flicked back and forth between Cas's face, the exit, and back at Raphael.

A lightbulb overhead shattered, followed by a rumble through the ground. Raphael was blinking more rapidly now, trying to shake off the trance. He took one staggering step toward them before halting again, but the shockwave seemed to have stalled Cas as well.

Dean's heart was jackhammering now, but he forced his voice to remain calm. "Focus on me, Cas. I've got you. Just keep one foot in front of the other." He gradually maneuvered Cas toward the door where Sam was playing the harp. Balthazar said it would take a few minutes for the angels to come out of the trance once the song stopped playing, which only gave them a short window of escape. A rapidly decreasing window if the exploding lightbulbs behind him were anything to go by.

They reached the door, and Dean dragged Cas into the open air. Sam's eyes widened where he stood, playing the harp, and his fingers fumbled over one chord, making it ring out flat. Dean winced, but jerked his head for Sam to continue playing while they gave themselves at least a little more distance. Unfortunately, walking and playing a harp wasn't really working, and Cas was still too docile to pick up the pace.

"Screw this," Dean said, voice sounding muffled and weirdly echoed with the earplugs. He made a 'cut-it-off' gesture with one hand, and Sam stopped playing. "Balthazar, I pray thee get your feathery ass over here and get us out now!"

It might have taken a second longer than Dean liked, or maybe that was just the adrenaline and mounting terror talking, but there was a rustle of wings, and the next thing Dean knew, he was standing in Bobby's salvage yard. Sam was across from him, and Cas in between.

"Good work, chaps," an accented voice spoke out of nowhere. Balthazar appeared and plucked the harp out of Sam's hands. "Best put this back before someone gets any ideas." And then he was gone.

"Hey!" Dean shouted to empty space. "Douche," he muttered, and popped out his earplugs.

"Cas?" Sam called softly. He'd removed his earplugs as well and was now standing in front of the angel, trying to catch a nonexistent gaze. Then Cas blinked, followed by another. Sam put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Cas, it's Sam and Dean."

Cas's eyes slowly cleared as he turned his head toward the younger Winchester. "Sam? What…" He started looking around. "Where am I?"

"Bobby's," Dean spoke up, gripping Cas's other arm.

"But…I was with Raphael. He had me trapped." Cas's brows knit together with intense concentration. "Is this some kind of hallucination? I don't remember the torture starting yet."

Dean's gut clenched at that image. "No, Cas. We came and got you." He crossed his arms. "By the way, what the hell were you thinking agreeing to a meet like that?"

Cas frowned in confusion, his eyes still blinking as the lingering effects of the trance wore off.

Sam's shoulders heaved with a sigh. "Balthazar came and told us," he explained. "He knew any kind of rescue attempt by the angels would probably result in a lot of casualties, so I guess he thought we'd have better luck." Sam's mouth quirked ruefully, because yeah, like they were all that equipped to take on Heaven. But they had just pulled one over on Raphael, and Dean was feeling pretty good about it.

"Guy's a major dick and coward," Dean picked up, not caring if Balthazar was lurking and overheard him. "But at least he gave us a chance of succeeding. We used the Harp of David to put all the angels to sleep and then went in and got you out. That's why you probably don't remember anything."

Cas blinked owlishly at them, mouth pinched as though he were wracking his brain for some flicker of memory, and coming up empty. "That was incredibly foolish," he said, gravelly voice managing to sound slightly haughty, but then his expression softened. "But thank you. You're right…the other angels would not have come for me."

"You shouldn't have been alone in the first place," Dean chastised.

"I get why you did," Sam jumped in, tone always the more understanding one. "But you can call us for backup too, you know. As humans, we'd fly under the angels' radar. Just…" Sam let out a huff. "Just consider coming to us sometimes, alright? We call on you often enough."

Cas's rigid posture seemed to ease a fraction. "Thank you, Sam, Dean. I…I will."

Dean clapped him on the back. "Good. You wanna come in for a bit or you need to get back to the troops?"

Cas hesitated. "I should get back." The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. "And thank Balthazar for his interference."

Dean nodded in understanding; maybe someday when they weren't fighting to save the world, the three of them could just hang out, enjoy each other's company without all the other shit weighing them down. But it wasn't today. Or tomorrow. At least they knew who they could call when trouble came knocking.