Percy Jackson x Male Reader The Lightning Thief

We Visit the Garden Gnome Emporium

Percy's POV

In a way, it's nice to know there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. For instance, when you're walking away from a bus that's just been attacked by monster hags, and then blown up by lightning, and it's raining on top of everything else, most people might think that's just really bad luck; when you're a half-blood, you understand that some divine force really is trying to mess up your day.

So, there we were, Annabeth and Grover and I, walking through the woods along the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind us, and the smell of the Hudson reeking in our noses. When suddenly I remembered something.

"Wait, where's Y/n?" Annabeth and Grover stopped as I spoke. Turning around as she opened her mouth to reply.

"I thought he was behind you."

I groaned as I hit my head with my hand. In the spur of the moment I hadn't even noticed our missing friend.

"We have to go back then. Come on guys! No time to waste here!" I started to run back as I spoke. But I felt a hand grab my arm keeping me from moving forward.

"Percy wait," Annabeth spoke, "You heard that wail. She was calling for reinforcements. It's too dangerous to go back."

"We can't just abandon him!" I snapped back.

"We're not abandoning anyone. Y/n will be fine. He's capable enough to find his way back to us. And if not then we can go search when everything's calmed down. But right now, we have to find somewhere to rest."

I pulled my arm away in slight irritation. I didn't like it, but as usual Annabeth had the most logical solution. So, we kept walking ahead. Grover behind and me and Annabeth at the front.

"You're pretty good with a knife." I commented.

"You think so?"

"Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me."

I couldn't really see, but I thought she might've smiled.

"You know," she said, "maybe I should tell you . . .Something funny back on the bus . . ."

Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill toot-toot-toot, like the sound of an owl being tortured

"Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried. "If I could just remember a 'find path' song, we could get out of these woods!"

He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff.

Instead of finding a path, I immmediately slammed into a tree and got a nice-size knot on my head.

Add to the list of superpowers I did not have: infrared vision.

After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, I started to see light up ahead: the colors of a neon sign. I could smell food. Fried, greasy, excellent food. I realized I hadn't eaten anything unhealthy since I'd arrived at Half-Blood Hill, where we lived on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph prepared barbecue. This boy needed a double cheeseburger.

We kept walking until I saw a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side was a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990's movie, and one open business which was the source of the neon light and the good smell.

It wasn't a fast-food restaurant like I'd hoped. It was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos, wooden Indians, cement grizzly bears and stuff like that. The main building was a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was impossible for me to read, because if there's anything worse for my dyslexia then regular English, it's red curisve neon English.