#so the cloak provides enough for it to sort of peak out without being uncontrollably big. and also he uses it as a magic vpn so people cant

[termagax]

a wizard and his gross familiar

[happistar]

Exiled

First fic posted pog! Hopefully its decent, and please tell me how to improve.

(Lots of Tommy angst up ahead hh)

---- Tommy sat on part of the Prime Path close to his house, looking down and around at his nation. The nation he fought so hard for. The nation with half of it bordered with obsidian cutting through the rightful center of the country. The nation that might no longer be his home anymore. Tears slid down his face uncontrollably. He was being exiled, wasn’t he? He could barely hear the conversation between Tubbo and Dream from so far up, but just from a few words it seemed like it was over.

Tommy clenched his fists in, pain? anger? ...fear? Whatever emotion the teenager felt, it was strong. Standing up, he walked away. Every instinct and muscle in his body told him to go back and wait. Wait for what? Tommy thought to himself. Wait to be exiled? Wait to be humiliated? Wait for my best friend and closest brother to remove him from the country that together they fought for? No. He would leave.

Tommy stumbled into his home, The Embassy. Peaking through his chests he grabbed a small chunk of supplies, enough to get through the next few days. Bread, a few stacks of cobblestone, all the minerals he had in his chests, whatever he thought in the moment would be helpful. The last spot Tommy went to collect items from was his ender chest. Just looking in brought a flood of memories. Almost every item in it had some sort of personal value to him. That's why he kept a small rusting knife, and his... discs.

Tubbo had his other disc. Tubbo. had. his. other. disc.

Tommy froze in panic after putting a few items in his inventory. He didn’t have his two most important discs. One was in the hands of Skeppy, the other in the hands of his best friend. Sobs came out of Tommy’s throat. He might never see his precious discs again. Tubbo would never give away his disc... right?

Tommy ran through all of the possibilities as he sat on his floor clutching his last disc left, Blocks. Dream could threaten Tubbo and New L’Manburg if he didn’t hand over the disc. Tubbo could give it to Dream in order to pay for Tommy’s actions. Tubbo could also not exchange it for anything, but with how Dream is, Tommy knew that before long the disc would be in that green bastard’s hands. It could even be in his possession right now.

Picking himself off from the ground, Tommy realized he didn’t have time to despair right now. He had to leave. Almost instinctively, Tommy chose to go in the direction of Pogtopia. The now abandoned nation was his home away from his true home. It seemed only fitting he would return after a very similar situation. He ran as fast as he could, sneaking close to the obsidian walls when he was nearest to New L’Manburg

He glanced back towards the place he once was, now with Dream and Tubbo standing there, looking like they were looking for him. Tommy choked back a sob, and looked up ahead again. His breath quickened when standing before him was Wilbur. His close brother, the once leader of L’Manburg, his friend driven to insanity. The long, bloodstained cloak suited nicely and the cape flowing along with the wind were all too familiar.

But... Wilbur was dead. Tommy blinked a few times to just realize it was Ghostbur. But why was Ghostbur wearing his alive self’s old clothing?

“T-Tommy?” The icy cold voice of Ghostbur echoed slightly as his gaze seized up the mess of a teenager.

“Y-yes, W-Ghostbur?” Tommy muttered over tears, looking pained at the ghost.

“It’s so cold out there. Winter is almost here, and uh, I feel like you should have this.”

Tommy realized finally how cold he was. The wind was awfully brisk and he knew he needed more than his layered shirts and the scarf he wore back when his brother was alive. But when Ghostbur handed him the cloak, Tommy had a surge of reactions. The cloak, unlike he thought, was all cleaned up of blood, although there was a hole and a few stains that clearly were scrubbed at for ages, but never came out. The cloak would provide a lot of warmth and could protect him from the upcoming bitter winds. 

Although, this cloak had a lot of memories tied to it. A lot of bad memories in fact. Memories of Wilbur going insane, memories of Wilbur shouting at Tommy about how he was never going to be president, and memories of the few months he spent stuck in a ravine without his friends. 

Tommy looked up at Ghostbur and back at the cloak in his arms. Hugging it tightly, he dawned the cloak.

“I... I have to get going now Wilbur.” He spoke looking up at his fallen brother, wishing he could hug him. Ghostbur looked back at Tommy with his empty eyes filled with what seemed to be a mixture of pride and the feeling of trying to hold onto a lost, faded memory that you can’t quite place.

When Tommy got into the woods, he glanced back for the last time to see Ghostbur staring wistfully at him, and Tubbo in the distance catching up to Ghostbur. He called Tommy’s name, begging for him to come back, before he noticed the cloak pained with memories, and Tommy wearing it, disappear into the woods.

A tear-filled Tommy shifted the jacket moving it closer to his body, like a warm embrace from the last thing his brother ever owned before passing away.