Victor slowed as the warehouse came into view. His eyes scanned the cracked lot, broken glass, and rusted walls before landing on Dean. For a moment, Victor wondered whether he should turn back. Then his gaze shifted, and he froze.
The boy in white stood just behind Dean, smiling as always. When Victor saw him, the boy lifted a hand and waved.
Victor's breath caught. He glanced back at Dean, searching for an explanation. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice sharper than intended.
Dean raised an eyebrow, calm and steady. "Just taking a walk. What about you?"
Victor frowned. "A walk? In a dark warehouse?" He gestured at the rusted beams and broken windows. "Doesn't look like a place for a stroll."
Dean didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on Victor. "Yeah. A walk," he said flatly. Then, leaning forward, he added, "Now your turn. What are you doing here?"
Victor swallowed. "The boy in wh—" He caught himself, stopping mid-sentence. He rubbed his neck and muttered, "I mean… I'm just walking too. Same as you."
Even to him, the excuse sounded thin. His eyes shifted between Dean and the boy again, unease pressing harder on his chest.
The warehouse went quiet. Only the faint creak of old metal broke the silence, and the boy in white kept smiling, waving slowly as if nothing about this was strange at all.
Dean decided to make the first move. If there was one thing he knew, it was that staying quiet never solved anything. Victor had been in this cursed town for years. Longer than anyone else. He knew the rules, the patterns, maybe even secrets not yet shown in the show. And if Dean wanted real answers, Victor was the best shot he had.
Besides, Dean thought, the system had made it clear: progress wasn't just about staying alive. It was about choices, pushing forward, and making the right connections. Victor wasn't just some survivor — he could be useful. Maybe even important.
Dean's eyes narrowed. "Victor," he said slowly, "you can see the little boy in white too, right?"
The change in Victor was instant. He froze, eyes wide like Dean had spoken a curse. For a moment, he looked ready to deny it. Then his lips parted in shock.
Today alone, he had met two people who could see the boy. First, the Matthews kid. And now Dean. For years, Victor thought he was the only one — cursed or chosen, he never knew which. But now, others shared it. Why? Why now? His head spun with questions he couldn't answer.
"You… you can see him?" Victor whispered, hardly believing it.
Dean didn't blink. He turned his head toward the boy, who stood a few steps behind him, still smiling that same strange smile. The kid raised his hand again, giving Victor a small wave. Dean looked back. "Yeah. He's smiling at you right now. Waving too."
Victor's mouth went dry. He glanced again at the boy, who hadn't stopped smiling since Dean walked in. The same boy who had led him to safe places and to clues. The same boy who had helped him live when no one else could.
Dean's voice cut through his racing thoughts. "He's the one who brought me here. To show me something."
Victor's brows pulled together. "What did he show you?" he asked, curiosity heavy in his voice. His usual scattered self was gone; for once, he looked sharp, focused, like he needed the truth to make sense of his own years of following the boy's hints.
Dean paused. Part of him wanted to keep it hidden. But if he wanted Victor's trust, he had to give him something real.
He breathed out slowly. "I saw a man," Dean said. "An old man in a yellow suit. He was in the tunnels. I was there too, just chained, couldn't move. He walked right up to me, fast as lightning, and tore out my throat...and then the vision ended."
Victor's eyes widened, his face pale. He shook his head rapidly, muttering under his breath, "No, no, no… that's bad, that's bad… tunnels and yellow suit man...… that's a warning. A warning, not a trick." He looked up at Dean, his voice quivering with urgency. "You have to listen to it. You have to listen to the boy in white because if you don't… you will die."
Dean's eyes hardened. "It felt real, Victor. Real enough that I'm not ignoring it."
The warehouse felt colder as the words hung in the air. The boy in white kept smiling, silent as ever, while Victor stared at Dean like the ground under him had shifted.
Dean broke the silence once again.
"Victor," he said slowly, "do you know who the man in the yellow suit is?"
His tone was steady, not just curious but serious. This yellow suit man was important — someone who only showed up near the end of the third season — so learning about him now could give him a huge advantage. Dean needed answers, even small ones.
Victor blinked, still pale from what Dean had said earlier. His lips opened and closed before words finally spilled out, rushed and nervous. "Not here… no, not here." His hands twitched as he spun on his heel. "Follow me."
Without looking back, Victor hurried out of the warehouse. His steps were quick and uneven. Dean followed right after.
They walked deeper into the forest. Victor didn't slow or check behind him. The further they went, the darker the surroundings seemed, even though it was close to noon.
At last, Victor stopped in front of a smaller warehouse hidden under moss and rust. Dean thought most townsfolk wouldn't even know it existed. Victor yanked the wooden door open with a loud screech and waved for Dean to go in.
Dean stepped inside, alert. The air was damp and dusty, but that wasn't what caught his attention. The walls. They were covered in drawings, layer after layer, some scribbled and messy, others so clear they made his chest tighten.
Children. Monsters. The town. The forest. Strange shapes. And among them, again and again, the figure of a man in a yellow suit. The only difference was his head full of black hair.
Victor closed the door, the sound echoing too loudly. He rushed to one wall, jabbing his torch at a picture. "See? That's him. That's the one you saw."
Dean stepped closer. The drawing was rough, but there was no mistaking it: a tall man with sharp features, wearing a suit, his smile stretched too wide, his eyes dark. Around him, other monsters stood, their expressions somewhat.... different. They didn't have their usual creepy smiles.
Dean frowned, studying the wall. "Their leader…?"
Victor paced in front of the wall, his hands twitching like he was trying to pull words out of the air. "No, no, not their leader. I thought that at first too, but it's not right." He jabbed a finger at one of the charcoal drawings, the man in the yellow suit standing tall among the monsters. "Look close. He doesn't stand with them. He stands apart. Like… like the picture's tilted and he doesn't belong in it."
Dean frowned. "Then what is he?"
Victor's eyes darted back and forth, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He's a mistake. Something left over. Like when you tear a page from a book and there's a piece of the story stuck behind. That's him. A leftover piece. Doesn't follow their rules 'cause he wasn't made with them."
Dean studied the drawings. In each one, the man in yellow never touched the other creatures—always apart from them, never part of the group.
Victor stepped closer, eyes wide and tense. "The boy in white… even he's careful around Yellow Man. He showed me, warned me… said there's no fighting him, no outsmarting him."
Victor swallowed hard, his voice a shaky whisper now. "The monsters… you can learn them, avoid them, fight them sometimes. But Yellow Man? If he looks at you—really looks at you—you're already marked. Doesn't matter where you hide."
Dean felt a chill run up his neck. As Victor's words echoed in the small, dark room, Dean felt a knot of frustration tighten in his stomach. The explanation about the yellow man was unclear, like a puzzle with missing pieces, but it didn't take a genius to read between the lines.
And if Dean ever truly catches his eye… the vision had already told him what would follow. Death. Swift and certain.
He turned toward Victor, eyes hard. "Then tell me this. Do you know what he wants? What's his purpose?"
Victor froze, then slowly shook his head, his voice little more than a whisper. "I don't know. What I've told you… that's all I got."
Dean frowned at that. This information was nowhere near enough. Dean turned slowly, his eyes landing on the boy in white.
The boy stood there as if he had been there the whole time. He had followed them quietly, patiently from the warehouse, and was still watching.
"Do you know anything about him?" Dean asked. His voice was low but sharp. "The man in yellow suit. Who he is. What he wants." He paused and then pressed harder, his tone rough. "Is there a way to stop him? To protect ourselves?"
The boy in white only smiled. Without a word, the boy lifted his hand and motioned for them to follow.
Victor shifted uneasily and rubbed his hands together. "He's… he's leading us somewhere. We have to go. We have to follow."
Dean did not answer, but his legs carried him forward on their own. He followed the child out of the shelter. Victor stayed close behind, mumbling half-formed words under his breath.
The sunlight felt heavy as they stepped into the open forest. The boy in white moved ahead without effort.
The trees grew taller, their branches stretching high above like bars in a cage. Suddenly, the boy stopped. He turned, the faint smile still on his face, and pointed.
The Faraway Trees stood before them.
The boy in white held Dean's gaze for a long moment. Then he vanished. There was no sound and no trace. He was simply gone.
Dean stared at the empty space. "Great," he muttered. "More riddles. Lead us to the creepy trees and vanish. That's really helpful."
Victor's eyes darted quickly between the trees. His voice was rushed and shaky. "He's saying this is it. This is the way. The only way."
Dean let out a sharp breath. Obviously he knew what the Faraway trees were. But he knew that when one entered through them, they can appear anywhere in the town. The destination was not fixed which made it even more troublesome.
Before he could say more, a sound tore through the quiet forest.
A scream. Sharp and high.
"Help! Help me!"
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