The Son of Death (Percy Jackson x Male Reader)

Mr. B Drinks Diet Pepsi Instead Of Diet Coke

Tempest raced down the road with Blackjack and I soaring overhead.  Fortunately, we didn't pass any cars, or we might have caused a wreck.  In no time, we arrived at the thirty two mile marker, which looked exactly as Piper had described it in her vision.  Blackjack landed, and I glided to the ground after him.  Both horses pawed the asphalt.  Neither looked pleased to have stopped so suddenly, just when they'd found their stride.  Blackjack whinnied.

Percy: You're right, no sign of the wine dude.

???: I beg your pardon?

We all spun around.  The wheat parted, and a man stepped into view.  He wore a wide brimmed hat wreathed in grapevines, a purple short sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, and Birkenstocks with white socks.  He looked maybe thirty, with a slight potbelly, like a frat boy who hadn't yet realized college was over.

Bacchus: Did someone just call me the wine dude?  It's Bacchus, please.  Or Mr. Bacchus.  Or Lord Bacchus.  Or, sometimes, Oh-My-Gods-Please-Don't-Kill-Me, Lord Bacchus.

Percy urged Blackjack forward, though the pegasus didn't seem happy about it.

Percy: You look different.  Skinnier.  Your hair is longer.  And your shirt isn't so loud.

The wine god squinted up at him.

Bacchus: What in blazes are you talking about?  Who are you, and where is Ceres?

Percy: Uh... what series?

YN: I think he means Ceres, the goddess of agriculture.  We'd call her Demeter.

Jason nodded respectfully to the god.

Jason: Lord Bacchus, do you remember me?  I helped you with that missing leopard in Sonoma.

Bacchus scratched his stubbly chin.

Bacchus: Ah... yes.  John Green.

I smirked.  I guess even with two different personalities, some things stay the same.

Jason: Jason Grace.

Bacchus: Whatever.  Did Ceres send you, then?

Jason: No, Lord Bacchus.  Were you expecting to meet her here?

The god snorted.

Bacchus: Well, I didn't come to Kansas to party, my boy.  Ceres asked me here for a council of war.  What with Gaea rising, the crops are withering.  Droughts are spreading.  The karpoi are in revolt.  Even my grapes aren't safe.  Ceres wanted a united front in the plant war.

YN: Ugh, hate the karpoi.

Percy: The plant war.  You're going to arm all the little grapes with tiny assault rifles?

The god narrowed his eyes.

Bacchus: Have we met?

Percy: At Camp Half-Blood.

YN: We know you as Mr. D.  Dionysus.

Bacchus: Agh!

Bacchus winced and pressed his hands to his temples.  For a moment, his image flickered.  He was a different person.  Fatter, dumpier, in a much louder leopard patterned shirt.  Then Bacchus returned to being Bacchus.

Bacchus: Stop that!  Stop thinking about me in Greek!  Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused?  Splitting headaches all the time!  I never know what I'm doing or where I'm going!  Constantly grumpy!

Percy: That sounds pretty normal for you.

The god's nostrils flared.  One of the grape leaves on his hat burst into flame.