If you don't know who Sierra is... Haha don't sweat I made her up for Garden wall (see silverhuntress's profile, the update with Sierra should be up soon...). I wanted to test out a world where Octavian doesn't go to Camp Jupiter, despite being a legacy still who suppresses his prophetic powers... But not very well. I love exploring the idea that while fluff it suitable blood is the preferred sacrifice and delivers stronger more accurate visions. I really really love my little boy, so don't blame me for all these fun AU's. And in case you're wondering... YES THIS WILL BE OCTACHEL.

Disclaimer: So far I only own Steve, Victoria, and Sierra, but I might as well own Octavian because I love him more than Rick does. (That said... Torture ahead LOL)

Chapter 1- Mr. Perfect

"Look at yourself. Perfect grades. Perfect girlfriend. Perfect lie. It's fine though. You're a Junior. You'll graduate soon. You can skip town soon after that." Mr. Seemingly perfect life Octavian Alexander had as of late developed the nasty habit of talking to himself. Who else would he talk to? Sierra? Talk to Sierra about his problems, about his issues and his less than perfect life? She only like him because he appeared to have his whole life together. Well, that's why he thought she liked him. She certainly didn't have her life together. It seemed like Every other day she was coming in crying because of something her mom or older brothers had done, and her dad seemed oblivious to it all. When they were together Octavian was her anchor. When they were apart, like now, Octavian couldn't even anchor himself. It was only years of practice that made him Mr. Perfect. He stopped talking to himself. Who knew who was listening. Instead he dropped down to the floor and began rummaging around under his bed.

"You can skip town whenever you want." The mumbler inside his head he didn't give voice to reminded.

"Not like that." He was insistent about that but kept digging under his bed anyway.

"Then why are you doing this?" The mumbler pointed out.

"You know why." There was a knock at his door.

"Master Octavian who are you talking to?" Oops.

"No one Tessa, I'm fine. And it's just Octavian." His mother liked how ma'am and master sounded, but it made he and his father uncomfortable. He didn't talk to himself after that, at least not out loud. Eventually he found the bottle and shook a couple into his hand. Between the aspirins and the ice pack the pain of bruising faded to nothing. Then, homework completed and stomach only growling a little bit, he flopped down on his bed and closed his unbruised eye.

The dreams come per usual. Had he been conscious he would have felt dread as soon as they started. Like the feeling you get when the trailers end and a horror movie starts. Asleep however, he was perfectly at ease. His dreams were odd speculations of teenagers dressed for war- demigods, his subconscious supplied. It was a bloody battle, and he was so far set apart from it, it really was like watching a movie. But then the frightening stuff started. Even more vivid then the battle. He saw his girlfriend being kicked down a flight of stairs by her drunk older brother. He cried out to her, but it was like yelling at a screen. The image switched and he saw his own parents, his mom rubbing his dad's back, his dad muttering over and over, "I'm sorry." He always was. For a brief moment he saw something startling, he saw himself, in a bed with tubes and needles, some hospital in Sacramento, which made him wonder when. He didn't look much different then than he did now. Then the visions attempted to ease up on him, and he was offered a bit of light. A girl with red hair tucked under a gray beanie holding out a hand to him, oh he knew for sure it was for him, saying, "You're not scared of me are you?"

When he woke up his rm was bleeding and he groaned. Again! Again! How could this have happened again? It was his left arm that bled, because of course it was. After all he could only operate a knife with his right hand. He stumbled to the bathroom and hurriedly though carefully bandaged and hid his arm. Then he puked. He wasn't a huge fan of blood, and he still felt drowsy and wretched. Holding on to the edge of his toilet he called up to the gods,

"Was this enough for you?" He was their own blood sacrifice. In return he got visions, and they always came true. But when? And in what order? He was worried, mostly about Sierra, and was about to call her when there was a knock on his door.

"Dinner's ready mas- Octavian." He loved the servants. They were always the nicest and it never seemed forced. When no one else was around he would sometimes talk to them. Tessa was teaching him Spanish. He threw on a jacket and headed downstairs, and not particularly hungry after puking. But his parents were watching, so he ate of course. He smiled and was polite and spoke only when spoken to. Which wasn't a household rule, but rather just the safest option. His mother looked like she was going out, and he desperately hoped that that was the case.

"Your father and I are going out tonight Octavian. There's a very exclusive gala. It should be very nice. It's press covered, I heard. I wanted you to come as well and present yourself, but you can't go anywhere with that eye. Have you put anything on it?" She addressed the bruise as if she didn't know where he'd got it. As if she didn't know her husband was responsible for it. Steve fiddled now with his glasses, looking sick to his stomach, which Octavian could relate to. She didn't blame Octavian for the wound, but she was so casual that it didn't sound like anyone else's fault either. Her family had to look perfect and it usually did. But with the incidents it wouldn't, if people found out. She smiled patiently, nearly lovingly, at her boys and then got up from the table and finished getting ready.

Octavian lavished in the lack of people around. He gave his arm a little more of the attention it deserved, and his aspirin bottle a bit more attention than it deserved. He meant to call Sierra, but somewhere in between slinking to the kitchen for a cold pack and collapsing into bed after hiding his knife where he might not be able to get to it in case there were dreams, he forgot her.

Soon sleep came. He hoped his luck could hold and sleep could be dreamless, for once.