Anyway, Sam and Dean, suitably chastened, bring Castiel up to speed on their investigation, and no sooner have they pressed a relevant newspaper clipping into My Sweet Baboo's hands than we jet over to...
...the former home of Christopher Birch, where we find the dead kid's grieving father reading The Nonexistent Easter Eagle's coverage of Officer Hatch's untimely demise. "How many times you gonna read that thing?" the sullen teen who's just wandered in asks. "We should just throw it away," the little snot continues. Father Birch quietly tells the adolescent aggravation to go outside and play and, once the annoyance has left, he begins cutting the article out for the scrapbook he's been keeping. Of course, it's at this moment that Castiel flutters in with Our Intrepid Heroes. "The hell?" I'm sure Father Birch yelps as he leaps from the sofa with surprise. The boys quickly get down to business, and it just as quickly becomes evident Father Birch was not responsible for the officers' delightfully gruesome deaths, especially when the insufferable snot returns from the yard, leveling The Teeny Tiny Staff Of Moses at Our Intrepid Heroes like it's a gun. "Shouldn't it be bigger?" Darling Sammy guhs. "It's been sawed off," Castiel squints. Heh. Good one, show. Father Birch orders "Aaron" -- yeah, another good one, show -- from the room, but Annoying Aaron just wiggles The Sawed-Off Staff Of Moses around some more, so My Sweet Baboo zaps Father Birch into unconsciousness, then flutter-zips across the room to relieve Annoying Aaron of the weapon.
Now facing the third degree from Sam, Dean, and Castiel, Annoying Aaron quickly spills his guts, admitting he used the foreshortened disco stick to kill the lousy cops, while adding he originally obtained the thing from an angel in exchange for his immortal soul. Sam, Dean, Castiel, and the audience in general were unaware that angels could trade in souls, but My Sweet Baboo wastes no time in realizing that the angel involved likely hacked The Staff into smaller pieces in order to sell those pieces to a large number of people, so it's vitally important they figure out who's responsible before more stick shards fall into amateurs' hands. To that end, he zaps Annoying Aaron into unconsciousness. "What'd you do that for?" Dean protests.
"Portability," Castiel replies, after having fluttered everyone back to This Week's Motel Room, where he slings the kid down upon Sam's Bed Of Sin. "I do hope housekeeping's stopped by since this morning's sordid shenanigans!" Raoul shrieks, and I hadn't realized you'd rejoined us, my scaly friend, but from the looks of those sheets, I'd say housekeeping hasn't visited this room in years. "Filthy!" Indeed. In any event, and long story short, if an angel actually bought Annoying Aaron's soul, then that angel will have left a mark on his new property. Castiel can, of course, read that mark, but it's going to cause the annoyance no small amount of pain, so that's why he whisked the brat back to Our Intrepid Heroes' room. I think. I mean, the desk clerk at this No-Tell's probably not going to call the cops if someone starts screaming in one of the rooms, am I right? "Absolutely!" Excellent. Of course, Dean protests mightily that they can't torture a teenager, but Sam's all, "Whatever, dude," because Sam Came Back Wrong For The Third Or Fourth Time Since This Show Began, and he's now all cold-blooded and whatnot for the foreseeable future. "TORTURE!" shrieks Raoul, growing impatient. "TORTURE THE ANNOYING CHILD!" For once, the strange little people inside the television listen to the imaginary gay dragon on the Internet, and Castiel -- get this -- shoves his entire arm into the kid's torso. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Annoying Aaron howls and screams and such, but it's over all too soon, and Castiel has the name they've all been looking for: Belthazor. Whoops! Sorry! Sorry, my bad -- it's actually "Balthazar," but I spent so many goddamned years typing that other thing that I wouldn't be surprised if I slip up eight or nine times during the rest of this evening's presentation. And by "slip up eight or nine times," I of course mean "don't even bother trying to get it right." The fact that Sebastian Goddamned Roché was heavily featured in an especially egregious episode of that atrocity certainly won't help matters, either. "Demian!" What? "Stop babbling!" Oh, I apologize. There's violence impending, isn't there? "Yes! Yes! VIOLENCE!" Then I shall attend to it right away. "Whee!"