Chapter 36 – "The Three of Us"
The battlefield finally fell silent.
The dust settled, and the ashes of Giuseppe's cursed soul still drifted in the wind. The others remained near the ruins, tending to their wounds.
As for Alexander, he walked away.
Not far.
Just far enough to breathe.
He climbed higher and sat beneath a shattered tree, his body still aching from the fight, dried blood staining his torn shirt. His eyes stared into the horizon — calm, exhausted.
Then came footsteps.
Two of them.
He didn't lift his eyes when the two stood before him.
Not at once.
"Stefan… Damon," he said without turning.
They didn't respond.
Then Damon sat beside him, silently, unlike his usual self.
Stefan followed and sat on the other side.
The three of them sat like that for a while, with only the breeze daring to speak between them.
Then Stefan said quietly, "He was our father."
Alexander didn't flinch. "No. He was your father. My real father died a long time ago."
Damon looked at him, slightly confused. "What do you mean?"
Alexander sighed and answered, "My real father… was killed by your father when he discovered his wife—my mother—wanted to leave him."
"Giuseppe killed him."
The two of them said nothing. They hadn't known.
Stefan looked down. Damon rubbed his hands together, tension suddenly showing.
"I wanted to kill him myself," Damon murmured. "For what he did. To you. To my mother. To all of us."
Alexander replied, "You shouldn't have. If you had, the curse would have fallen on you. And I don't mean my curse—I mean the curse of pain and grief."
Stefan's voice trembled, breaking: "We failed you."
Only then did Alexander turn to them.
His voice was low: "No. You didn't. You saved me. You fought beside me. You stood with me in the end."
"But before that—" Stefan began.
"Before that… I hated you," Alexander admitted. "I hated you because you lived a life I never knew. Because your father didn't hit you just for breathing. I thought my pain was your fault."
Damon looked at him now, truly. "And now?"
Alexander gave a faint smile, then looked down at the dirt beneath his feet.
"I still hate you a little," he said. "But… I'm tired of hating."
A new silence fell.
Then — surprisingly — Damon reached out and pulled Alexander into a hug.
An awkward hug.
Tense.
Rough.
But real.
Stefan joined them a moment later.
Three brothers.
Covered in blood.
Bruised and battered.
But still alive.
And still together.
"I didn't think I'd see you again," Stefan whispered.
"And I didn't think I'd want to," Alexander replied, his voice shaking.
None of them let go… for a long time.
Not even Damon.
---
Above Mystic Falls, the sky had begun to turn golden with the setting sun. The war had left its scars, but peace — however temporary — was breathing again.
Alexander stood alone in the yard behind the Salvatore house. They had returned and rested for a while.
He stood leaning against the railing, the wind toying with his long hair. The silence felt almost peaceful. Almost honest.
Then came footsteps.
One by one, they arrived.
Elijah, with his usual majestic silence and unshakable composure.
Rebekah, her eyes swollen from unshed tears, but her stance still proud as ever.
She mourned Kol — even though he had tried to kill them — he was still of their blood, of their family.
They were all grieving, but none showed it.
And finally… Klaus.
The hybrid king, walking slower than usual, none of the arrogance he was known for — only a heavy weight in his chest.
They stood before Alexander, a triangle of history — blood, loss, and survival.
"I didn't think you'd come," Alexander said without looking at them.
Klaus let out a soft, dry laugh, barely audible: "Neither did I."
Elijah stepped forward and stood beside him, nodding briefly. "You look… alive."
Alexander gave a sideways smile. "I'm trying to keep up with the times."
Rebekah crossed her arms and tilted her head. "Don't die again. It's exhausting having to bring you back every time."
A short, tired laugh passed between them. And for a moment… there was peace.
They all sat on the steps of the porch, like old friends reunited after a long time.
At last, Klaus broke the silence: "You were brilliant out there, Alexander."
"I was angry," he replied simply.
"Yes," Elijah added, "but you controlled it. You fought for something greater than anger. And not many can do that."
Alexander nodded slowly, his gaze distant. "You all came… despite everything."
Klaus said, "We're not saints, but we don't forget loyalty."
Alexander looked each of them in the eye.
"Thank you."
Then came the moment.
A moment that cracked the stillness, in the tone of his voice.
"Well," he muttered, sitting upright, "one of you has to explain something to me."
They all looked at him, expectantly.
He narrowed his eyes, his voice sharp:
"Where. The hell. Is Katherine?"
Silence.
Rebekah frowned. Elijah looked away.
Klaus exhaled deeply, his jaw tight.
"She disappeared," he said at last. "After she killed that thing… she vanished. No one's seen her since."
Alexander's eyes flared. "No one?"
"Not even a whisper," Elijah confirmed. "She vanished like smoke."
Rebekah muttered bitterly, "As she always does."
Alexander stood, his fists clenched in fury. "She stabbed me in the hand, ran off with the monster that killed me. Then brought my bastard father back from the ashes to kill me again… And after I won, she ran off again."
Then he added, voice simmering: "I want answers."
Klaus stood too, his voice dark — but calm: "And you'll get them. But… not tonight."
Alexander fixed his gaze on the horizon.
Not tonight.
But soon.
He would face her again.
And this time… she would be forced to confront the man she left to die.
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