Will says he can keep going, but you're not sure about that. But who are you to stop him?

He keeps trying things out with the powers he already has. Then he tries to read your mind — unsuccessfully, thank goodness. "I think I could re-enter the mindscape," he says. "But it'd mean leaving my body. Like Bill did when he went into Stan's mind." He gives you a crooked smile. "I'd probably be a creepy statue."

"Yeah, let's not do that," you say, trying to return the smile. Really, though, your skin is crawling from the thought of Will becoming like the Bill statue.

Eventually, after a while more of playing around with his abilities, Will pauses. Long enough that you get a little worried. "What is it?" you ask.

"I can feel something," he says. "Something pretty big. I'm not entirely sure what it is. But I want to try it out."

"Okay," you say, despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Will closes his eyes and puts his hands out. After a moment, a wind picks up. You wonder if that's just a coincidence, or if Will's causing it. Can he control the weather?

He just stands there for minute after minute. You get uncomfortable quickly, but you don't want to say anything, lest it mess up his concentration. But finally, you can't stand it anymore. "Will?"

His face scrunches up, eyes still closed. "Almost. . . got it. . . aha!"

His eyes fly open, and you hear a faint popping noise nearby.

A brightly colored bubble appears in the clearing.

You stare at it in confusion. What? What is that? The colors hurt your eyes, and, after a few moments, you have to look away. You do this just as Will collapses.

You jump to your feet. "Will?"

He waves a weary hand. So he's still conscious, then. Can demons even fall unconscious? "I'm fine," he says. He does not sound fine. But he pulls himself up so he can lean against the log, staring up at his creation with exhaustion and pride in his eyes. "I did it!"

"Did. . . what? What is that thing?"

"I'm not sure," he says wearily. "I'll figure out in a minute."

You frown at that vague answer. You want to ask for further explanation, but you don't want to bother him when he's tired like this. So you just wait. Again. The bubble floats gently in the air, its florescent oranges clashing with the forest's gentle greens.

"Okay," Will finally says. "I know what it is now."

"How?"

He shrugs a bit. "I don't know, it just. . . comes to me." He gestures to the bubble. "I don't know what to call it. But it's like. . . a pocket to another dimension. You enter it, and for a moment it's like you're somewhere else entirely — at least until you exit, or the bubble floats away."

That explanation rings a bell, but you can't figure out why. "Oh." You pause. "What kind of dimensions? Could we run into Mabel Gleeful again?"

Will shakes his head. "There are infinite dimensions, all of which are in infinitely big universes, so the chances of finding yourself in the Gleeful twins' town are too miniscule to even count. And even if you did find yourself face-to-face with them, all you'd have to do is step out of the bubble. They would have no access to this dimension." He shrugs again. "Most of the time you'll just end up in space."

"Would you die?" you ask with a frown.

"No, you'd still be here. You'd still be breathing this air. You'd be. . . halfway between the two dimensions, I guess. But your appearance would change to fit whatever humanoid species occupies that dimension, so if you went in there and looked down at yourself, what you saw would probably drive you insane. At least temporarily."

And then it clicks.

"That's a weirdness bubble!" you exclaim.

Will blinks. "What?"

"A bubble of pure madness! A weirdness bubble!" You point at the bright orange bubble hanging in the air. "Bill used them in Weirdmageddon! After he got a physical form, he made tons of them appear at once, and then anyone unfortunate to run into them would go crazy! My mom managed to avoid them, but she saw a lot of other people run into them. It was terrible!"

Will frowns. At first, you think it's in sympathy, but then he says, "He made tons of them appear at once? Right after gaining his physical form? Then how come it took so much effort just for me to make one?"

You can't believe this! "Why does that matter? You don't want to make tons of them! Get rid of it!"

"What? Why should I get rid of it? It's not hurting anything!"

"Maybe not now, but what about tomorrow? What about today? Any moment now, some creature — or worse, some lost tourist — could run into it, and then it would be hurting things!"

Will just stares at you. The color slowly drains from his face.

"What?" you demand. Why hasn't he gotten rid of that thing yet?

Will stands up. He waves a hand, and the weirdness bubble disappears. But he doesn't look apologetic at all. He looks. . . angry. A cold anger.

"That's exactly what Dipper said to me last night," he says.

What? What's exactly what Dipper said to him last. . .

I don't want to destroy the world.

Maybe not now, but what about tomorrow?

Oh. Oh no.

"Will—"

He turns away, his body stiff as a statue. "You're just as bad as the rest of them," he says. His voice is scarily devoid of emotion. "You rescue me, and then you shun me? If you'd known what I would be like with a physical form, I'm betting you would've just left me to rot with the Gleeful twins."

His words are like knives. "N-no, of course not! I still would've saved you!"

"Would you?" He gives you a cold glance over his shoulder. "You're afraid of me. You even admitted it earlier. You want to change me, too. Don't multiply, don't tell people what you know, don't freak people out. Don't be yourself."

He's speaking out of anger, a small voice says in the back of your mind. He doesn't really mean that. But it's so quiet, and your hurt is so loud, that you can't hear it. "Y-you're in our dimension, Will," you say, trying — and failing — to keep your voice steady. "Your actions have consequences. They could h-hurt people."

Freezing silence follows your statement.

"I see," Will says quietly. His eyes are as pale as ice, staring daggers at you. "You think I would hurt people."

"I-I said could," you stammer. "I never said you would."

"Oh, but Yasmin," Will says, "you know as well as I do that what you say is very different from what you feel."

The wildflower slips from your ear.

"You think I'm a danger. Dipper thinks I'm a danger. Wendy and Pacifica think I'm a danger. And nothing I do will change that. I've been in this dimension for less than a day, and my fate is sealed."

"I-I don't think you're a d-danger, Will." And you don't! You think his powers are dangerous, but you don't think he is. He's a sweet guy. Didn't he just give you a flower to put in your hair?

A flower that is now wilting in the dirt.

"You do," Will says. Is there a hint of sadness in his flat tone? "If no one will ever see me differently, then why bother trying to change their perspectives? Why bother tip-toeing around insignificant people who do nothing but judge me?"

Your heart worms its way down to your shoes.

I'm changing. I'm starting to care less. People are starting to look. . . insignificant.

When Will first said that to you, just hours earlier, he seemed to be ashamed of it. He seemed to be battling with himself. But now, it looks like the battle's been won.

By the wrong side.

When you don't say anything, Will just nods. As if your silence confirms his twisted train of thought.

"W-wait," you blurt out. "Wait, Will, you don't have to think this way! R-remember what you said earlier? About D-Dipper and all the good he's done? About. . . about me?"

He regards you with a level gaze. "People can be wrong. Even people as powerful as myself."

He turns and starts to leave. You want to call after him, but you can't. His harsh words have stolen all of yours.

At the edge of the clearing, Will turns back.

"And besides," he says, "I'm a demon." The words reach you through a haze of hurt. He waits for your eyes to meet his before he continues.

"I can't just ignore my nature."

And then — without a backwards glance — he walks away.