Aaron

When it gets dark, the Birch family's old house is stuck in a gray twilight.

Large areas of the off-white patent leather on the exterior walls peeled off, revealing the damp red bricks underneath. The weeds in the yard grew to ankle height. Setaria and plantains grew crookedly, and no one trimmed them.

There was a children's bicycle with rusty rims thrown in the corner of the yard. The tires were so flat that they were stuck to the ground, leaning against a decayed wooden fence.

There was a dim light from the living room window, and through the gray glass, one could see the walls covered with paper.

Impala parked in the shade of a tree across the street, Sam pointed at the deceased's information on the notebook with his fingertips, and spoke in a very low voice, "Three deceased, Toby Gray, Hank·Miller, and Joe Lance were all the police officers in charge of the Chris Topher·Birch case."

Dean tugged at his jacket and pinned the fake police badge on his collar. "Darryl·Birch, old man, he used to block the door of the police station every day to cry out, saying that his son was framed. He had sufficient motives."

"It's not just him." Sam closed the book, "He also has a younger son, Aaron·Birch, who is twelve years old. Chris When Topher died, Aaron was only five years old."

Bai Haorui in the back seat didn't say anything, he just raised his eyes and glanced at the house.

There was a faint fluctuation of holy power floating in the room, very fragmentary, as if it was left on something, intermittently.

"Let's go." Dean opened the car door and was about to get out when Castiel took a step forward and reached out to put his and Sam's shoulders at the same time.

Bai Haorui shook his head slightly when he saw this, and did not let Castiel take him.

With a slight tap of his foot, his figure floated out along with the space fluctuation caused by the teleportation, and landed in the living room of Birch's house almost at the same time as the three of them.

When he landed, his toes touched the ground, not even a particle of dust was stirred in the cracks of the floor.

Darryl·Birch sitting on the sofa shivered in fright.

He is a stout, middle-aged man, with a beer belly that stretches his old gray sweater tight, half of his temples are white, and the wrinkles on his forehead are as deep as if they were carved into him.

He was holding a local newspaper in his hand, and the front page was an old report on his son's case.

When he heard the noise, he raised his head suddenly, and the newspaper fell to the ground with a clatter. He staggered back half a step, his back pressed against the back of the sofa. "How did you get in?!"

"Mr. Birch, calm down." Dean took out his police badge and flashed it, "Federal agent, come here to learn more about the situation."

"Federal agents can break into private houses?!" Darryl suddenly became excited, his chest heaved violently, and his voice broke as he pointed at the door, "I tell you, Chris didn't even have a gun when he died! Those police framed him! They set him up!"

The walls were all covered with relevant news bulletins, from the headlines on the day of the incident, to the subsequent rejection of the appeal, to the recent deaths of several police officers involved. The edges of the paper were yellow and brittle, and there were water stains in some places. It had obviously been posted for several years.

"We know the truth." Dean said in a slower tone, "They all got their comeuppance, right, Darryl? Toby Gray, were you the one who killed those people?"

"Me?" Darryl looked confused. He was stunned for two seconds and his face turned the color of pig liver. "You doubt me? If I had the ability, I would have risked my life to kill them! Why do I have to wait until now?"

"Look at how they died." Castiel took a step forward, with a flash of holy power in his blue eyes, and an almost invisible coercion emitted from his body, "You use Staff of Moses to kill them."

Darryl shrank back under his gaze and became even more confused. "What scepter? What kind of agent are you? What on earth are you talking about?"

"We don't have time to waste." Castiel's voice became colder, "Where is the scepter? Hand it over."

"Stay away from my dad!"

The door to the back room banged open, and a boy rushed out.

Aaron·Birch, twelve or thirteen years old, is one head shorter than his peers, as thin as a bean sprout that has not grown, and his old school uniform hangs loosely on his shoulders.

In his hand, he held a sawn-off wooden stick, which was only as long as his forearm. The section was rough and uneven. It was cut with a hacksaw. The surface of the wooden stick was polished by his hands until it was shiny. It was obvious that he was holding it every day.

He stood in front of his father with his chin raised, his eyes wary and a little desperate, like a little animal being cornered, his voice trembling but not taking a step back.

"That's it." Castiel nodded, his eyes fixed on the wooden stick, "It should have been longer."

"Obviously it was sawed off." Sam continued, his eyes only stopping at the remnants of the holy power of the wooden stick, not looking at the boy much.

"Aaron, don't come here! It's none of your business!" Darryl wanted to pull his son, but as soon as he took a step, Castiel raised his hand and waved lightly, and a ray of holy power hit his shoulder.

Darryl didn't even hum. His eyes rolled back and he fell on the sofa, fainting.

"What did you do to my dad?!" Aaron was so frightened that he took a step back. His knuckles holding the wooden stick turned white and his fingertips dug into the wood.

"He's fine, he just fell asleep." Dean quickly squatted down, trying to keep his eyes level with the boy, and his tone could not be more gentle, "Listen, Aaron, we won't hurt you. But you have to tell me, where did you get this stick?"

"Please don't kill my dad." Aaron's eyes suddenly turned red and tears fell on the floor, "I did it, it was all my doing. It has nothing to do with my dad."

"No one wants to kill anyone." Dean said softly, "Your name is Aaron·Birch, right?"

The boy bit his lip and nodded, tears falling even more fiercely.

"Tell me, where did this come from?"

Aaron turned away and said in a voice as low as a mosquito, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try it." Dean spread his hands, "I've heard a lot of weird things."

The boy was silent for a few seconds and finally spoke. He said intermittently with a tearful voice that it was unfair that the policemen killed his brother but nothing happened and they could just go to work and live their lives as usual.

He prayed outside the window every night, begging God to punish those bad people. He prayed for a long time, but God ignored him.

Until two weeks ago at night, when he was crying in the yard, a man with wings on his back appeared.

"He said he was an angel and that God was too busy and that he had to fight for justice by himself." Aaron sniffed and wiped the tears from his face, "He gave me this stick and said that whoever wants to die with it will die."

Dean's heart skipped a beat. This routine was too much like a crossroads devil, but the other party was an angel?

"He just gave it to you for nothing?" Dean stared into his eyes, "Isn't that right, Aaron? Angels don't give things to others for free. What did you use in exchange for it?"

Aaron's body shook, his head buried even lower, and his voice was almost inaudible. "I bought it."

"Did you buy it?" Dean was a little dumbfounded, "With pocket money? What did the angel want you to exchange for? What did you give him?"

The boy raised his head suddenly, his eyes filled with despair and heavyness that did not suit his age. "My soul."

The living room suddenly became quiet, with only the ticking of the wall clock making the air even stuffier.

Dean was stunned, and slowly turned his head to look at Castiel, his voice a little wavy. "Angels buy souls? Is this fucking possible?"

"Unprecedented." Castiel's face was so solemn that it dripped water, staring at the wooden staff, "This can explain why he sawed off the staff."

"Why?"

"If you break it into more pieces, you can exchange it for more souls." Castiel's voice was as cold as ice, "More products."

"Who is this guy?" Dean A fire shot up.

"We will find him." Castiel looked at Aaron, his eyes turned cold, "It's easy to carry, right."

"Hey, please understand." Dean immediately stood up and stood in front of Aaron, opening his arms to protect the boy tightly, "What is the difference between this and kidnapping a child?"

"If the angel who bought the soul left a mark, I can read the mark and find out his name." Castiel said without any fluctuation in his tone.

"How to find it? Like tearing off labels from summer camp clothes?" Dean became angry.

"I don't know the specific form." Castiel looked past Dean and landed on Aaron, "But I can read the mark and find the angel. The process will be... very painful, and it will be the ultimate torture for him."

"Wait a minute!" Dean protected Aaron behind him, opening his arms wider, "He is still a child! A twelve-year-old child!"

"Dean."

Sam suddenly spoke, his voice was as smooth as a pool of stagnant water.

Dean suddenly turned his head to look at him. "What? Do you agree?"

"Will it cause permanent damage?" Sam looked at Castiel, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing his coat pocket.

"Physically? Minimal."

Sam nodded, looked away, and said in a cold tone, "Then do it."

Dean stared at him blankly, as if he had been struck by lightning, with disbelief in his eyes, as if he was meeting his younger brother for the first time.

He opened his mouth, but his chest felt stuffy. Something had been wrong with Sam since he came back from Hell. He had always known that, but he didn't expect to be so cold.

"Are you crazy?" Dean's voice was a little hoarse, "We want to torture a child? Just for a name?"

"We can't control that much, Dean." Sam avoided his gaze, and there was no emotion in his voice, "I don't have time to waste. Once I get the name, I can do the ritual to track the angel. I agree to take action."

"I also want to solve the case as soon as possible, but there must be other ways!"

"There is no other way." Castiel said.

Dean looked at the expressionless Sam, then at the fainted Darryl on the sofa, and finally looked back at the trembling boy holding a wooden stick.

He sighed heavily, turned away, and clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

He didn't object anymore. It was useless to object. Sam and Castiel were both standing there, and he couldn't stop it alone.

But the thought of inflicting such extreme pain on such a half-grown child made him feel like he was being pricked with needles.

"There is another way."

Bai Haorui, who had been standing by silently, suddenly spoke.

He took two steps forward and stood next to Dean. His eyes fell on Aaron and his tone was as calm as a pool of still water.

Dean turned his head suddenly, his eyes suddenly lit up. "Haorui? Do you have a way? Don't force it."

"I can read the soul mark." Bai Haorui nodded and glanced at Castiel, "It doesn't have to be extremely painful, just a little dizzy."

Castiel frowned. "It is impossible for humans to read the angel's mark - it is the mark of holy power, and ordinary Divine Sense will be burned if it touches it."