fifty-three.
Peter couldn't remember a day that he wasn't being locked up, drugged, or beaten. He couldn't remember a time that he wasn't being punished for not conceiving on their terms. The thoughts that once kept him sane in this place were now nothing more than distant memories, fantasies with faces he could no longer remember. All hope of escaping this place seemed to be the only thing that could ever escape the dripping concrete walls.
He could no longer remember the place that he called home or the people that lived in it. He couldn't remember the place he used to attend school, or where he used to eat. Those places were all just broken buildings in his mind, nameless, featureless walls. Every person he tried to remember were just bodies devoid of faces, stripped of their names. They were nothing more to him now than feelings he used to know.
Safety. Freedom. Bravery. Strength. Intelligence... Love.
They were all just empty words now, accompanied in his dreams by empty bodies. Empty promises and shattered hopes. He could see their bodies, but not their faces. Nothing that made them human. He had nightmares about their voices, their gentility. He only remembers glances of them, brief instances that he spent with them... But he had no idea who they were now. He had no idea if he'd ever see them again, whoever they were.
Now the only people he knew were the Hydra agents tasked with keeping him here, the unnamed Doctor, the undead man with the burnt face, and the faceless man with the metal arm that he tended to hallucinate.
He had no idea how long he'd been here, in this crumbling underground prison of his. He watched the numbers on the calendar change, each day marked out with a red 'X' but after the first two months, he lost track of how many 'X's there were. All he knew was that the calendar said октября. He still didn't speak Russian, but he was picking up on simpler words, and that word meant 'October'.
Which meant that to anyone still keeping track, Peter Parker had been missing for six months.
The only people that were truly paying attention to how long Peter had been missing now, were the Hydra agents, and everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. who was tasked with finding him. Half of the Agents were ready to give up, knowing that they'd probably never again find the boy in question... And the other half knew that if they didn't find him, then it would be hell for everyone involved.
Steve had reverted back into Captain America. The burden of the stripes followed him everywhere he went, from the conference rooms to the bathroom. He wasn't Steve anymore, not really. Peter had been taken from him, he and Bucky haven't gotten a single chance to think about planning their wedding and Nat's been so buried in the work she doesn't even come home anymore. The weight of being the Captain, the leader, the soldier... It was taking a toll on whatever emotional strength Steve still had inside of him.
He was the one arranging the missions to search for Peter. The one at all the debriefings. The one writing all the reports. He was the one still reporting for missions and debriefings for things that had nothing to do with Peter in the slightest. He wasn't free anymore, not that he ever really was, to begin with. But now he liked it. He enjoyed the distraction from the thoughts that Peter may really be gone for good.
Nat had taken to going on missions around the world, Clint and Sam in tow. She was fighting tooth and nail for any possible information on her boy, but if anyone had it, they weren't willing to share. She's been fighting so long she thinks the blood of the Hydra agents she's killed will be permanently crusted on her hands. Clint and Sam are both following in her footsteps, despite both of them giving up the hope in finding the boy on their quest.
They never stayed anywhere longer than they needed to. Aside from hunting down Hydra, Nat's time was spent maintaining her weapons and occasionally phoning the boys back home, maybe once a week or so. She didn't want to see them now, as she'd only be reminded of what they were missing. She saw a lot of James in the boy physically, but in spirit, he was all Steve.
Tony had been working in the lab non-stop, using his AI's to search the globe for the boy. At this point he was getting so desperate he started debating if he should send a distress signal up to Asgard for help in finding Peter. He knows they could cover more distance out in space if they had assistance from someone that could freely travel through space.
He was exhausted, but nothing would put him off of the path of looking for Peter. Not the lack of sleep, or the fact that Bruce had been sneaking away from him sometimes. What he was doing at this point, Tony didn't care. Nothing mattered more to him now than finding Peter, and the woman that put him in his care in the first place.
And then there was Bucky. He was doing a little of everything. He was going on missions, leading the search, sitting through debriefings and interviews, filling out reports and writing weapons logs. He was keeping all of his own weapons cleaned and his arm well-maintained with the use of Peter's toolbox... Despite how everyone else is doing, they all think he's doing far worse... And they're right. But he would never let them see that.
When he was home, he spent a lot of time in Peter's bedroom. Mostly he was just dusting and keeping everything tidy and in working order while the boy was away. He did the same for the apartment he shared with Steve, training Rebecca in the process. The pup followed Bucky's every move and was also in the middle of training to be a support animal. Nobody batted an eye when the man with the metal arm came in with his small dog in arms, quietly asking how much it would cost to have her trained the way he needed.
It was the first instance that nobody had stared.