I hope the books manage to get in your hands. Not sure you want them, because I'm pretty sure Thor is smuggling them in down his pants. But I tried.
This makes month six. I miss you. It's hit a slow patch here. Natasha and I just got back from some bullshit job in Japan that ended up being nothing. Actually, I'm supposed to be writing my report, but writing to you is more important.
Thor should be giving you another letter filled with my ramblings. Thanks to you for being the diary I never managed to maintain as a kid. You keep my inner journalist young. But I digress. I really just wanted to dedicate this note to saying I miss you. Except I already said that.
I miss you.
It's not the same without you around. Stark is a cow as usual but he can't take jabs at me like you can…sweet baby ice prince (and hey, you can't lock me in the bathroom this way). I don't know. I'm grasping at straws here. I'm so fucking tired. I've been having these dreams, I mean they're nightmares, and most nights I've been waking up choking. My chest feels so heavy, like something has just been crushing it or sitting on it or something. It's awful. And those dreams – my dad is in them, and he doesn't do anything, he just stands across from this dark room and stares at me. And he's bloody. It gives me the major creeps, but really that's not the bad part. Maybe I'm imagining it, but it's like in each dream he gets closer to me.
That sounded a lot worse written down. Disregard that. I'm giving myself the heebie jeebies.
I miss you. God. If you were here you could slap me out of it like you normally would and tell me I'm being irrational. It just feels so real.
But anyway, I'll let you get on to the happier letter and books and whatnot. You stay strong in there.
P.S. – Did I tell you that I miss you? When you get back, the first thing we're doing is messing with Stark. My pranks aren't nearly as good as yours.