Spider-Man Imagines

Home Alone | Harry Osborn (JF)

our first winter prompt imagine! yay! i'm gonna be trying to go through these as fast as i can since i have TONS to write.

prompt 12 as requested by Pandalion23

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Harry was fragile since the death of his father. You were positive that, if not for you or his butler, he wouldn't take care of himself. So you took it upon yourself to assure he had the best.

Ever since the funeral, you hung around him. You became more like a caregiver than a friend, but you loved Harry. You needed him to be happy and cared for.

"So, what are your Thanksgiving plans?" you asked Harry, checking the cookies that were baking in the oven.

"I, uh," he paused, sitting down on a stool in front of the kitchen island, "don't have any."

Your head snapped towards him. "Huh? Thanksgiving is in two days, Harry."

He shrugged. "I'll be alone," he said. "Which is... better."

"Better how?" you asked. You shook your head. "No. No way. Harry, you're having Thanksgiving with me."

"No, I won't be," he said. "You have family. You should spend time with them while you still have them."

"Harry, please," you scoffed, crossing your arms. "Thanksgiving is different now that all the kids in my family are grown and people have moved on. Besides, my parents have plans with friends."

"___-"

"This is nonnegotiable," you said. "Okay, you get the cookies out of the oven when they're done. I'm going to do some food shopping."

"___," he sighed, turning in the stool as you grabbed your purse and walked towards the foyer. "___, really-"

"See you soon!" you called out, ignoring his protests.

                             ...

You weren't sure how you managed to scrape up some food with the high crowd levels inside of stores and the empty shelves, but you managed to leave with a small turkey, box of stuffing, box of instant mashed potatoes, couple cans of green beans, a box of macaroni and cheese, and a pumpkin pie from the bakery.

You brought it all into the house, where Harry was sitting miserably on the couch, mug of hot cocoa in hands. He looked beyond sad. Your heart broke a little.

"Oh good," he said, "you're home."

Your heart skipped a beat at the word home. "Uh, y-yeah," you stammered. "Did the cookies turn out?"

"Uh-huh," he replied, staring at the fireplace.

You dropped the groceries onto the kitchen counter and walked back into the living room. "Harry," you began, standing behind his chair. He turned his head slightly. "If you don't want a Thanksgiving, I won't force you to have one. All that matters is whether or not you're happy."

You heard him sniff, and then he grabbed your hand. He brought it to the side of his damp face. He did not speak, but as he fell apart, you couldn't help but believe he was healing bit by bit.

                            ...

Thanksgiving morning was light and cheerful.

Harry woke up bright and early, and waited on the doorstep for you as you pulled in, scarf around his mouth, a bag of bakery donuts he'd had ordered in his hands. He wished you a happy Thanksgiving and hugged you, making you blush and feel warm.