Hello again, can I just say I love you all. I almost cried when I checked my email account. That's an astounding turn out for one chapter. I'm terrified this won't live up to expectations.

Just know, I read all your reviews (even people who are reviewing recently for GGC!) and even if I don't respond, I have seen it and (if its not a flame) I start smiling. I thought you might want an update rather than a gushing thank you note though. :D

Enjoy

I don't own anything!

1945

Peter had a pounding headache. His limbs felt like jelly and he had a feeling he might get to taste his Chinese a second time. None of these were the ideal feelings one hoped to wake up with. Neither was the feeling of being freezing and feeling as if your bed had turned to concrete.

With a loud groan Peter remembered what happened. He felt like he'd slept badly for days so he wasn't sure whether saying he remembered what happened last night was the right phrase.

There was loud shouting outside of his room and Peter opened his eyes. He was in a concrete room, on a concrete floor with a large metal door that had a small square of metal bars so people could stare at him. Peter had a fleeting thought about being a zoo animal but brushed it away to think of the more important matter at hand. He was not in Kansas anymore – or New York. Whatever, thinking made his head hurt.

Peter shuffled into a sitting position and found his limbs were weak. He'd lost almost all his strength. Peter tried to clearly remember why. That guy had said something about it draining his great grandfather's powers. So it had taken his powers away? Peter was having a hard time controlling his panic. It did not help when the door was yanked open and two armed guards entered wearing grey military coats with a red banner strapped around their left arm and a hydra symbol sewn into the right lapel.

As soon as their uniform and symbols registered in Peter's brain he started cursing in his brain. He was in Nazi Germany, in a Hydra base, with no powers. In other words, he was completely and utterly screwed.

Both men were pointing their guns at his face while one shouted words repeatedly at him. He didn't understand at all. It suddenly came to him that the man way trying different languages. Peter could feel his spider sense going haywire but it didn't seem to be working right and he didn't have the strength to care.

"Up! Up!" the man shouted in English, his German accent very prominent.

Peter weakly raised his arms in surrender and attempted to stand. He got as far as putting both feet on the ground before falling back onto the floor. Sadly he didn't had a very solid grandfather to lean on in his weakened state anymore. He really hoped Steve wasn't too upset or freaked. He also desperately hoped that he would sort this out and come get him.

One of the men above him grumbled angrily, waving his gun as if that would give him a burst of strength. Peter tried to get back up but collapsed before he could even get his knees under himself. As he attempted not to feel defeated after his third fail of flopping forwards he felt a harsh kick to his ribs, and then another. When he only responded in groans the men gave up and grabbed an arm each before roughly dragging him out and into the corridor.

He wasn't sure how long he was moving for but he soon found himself being plonked into a chair and steady as he started to topple sideways. He gripped onto the chair to keep himself upright. Once he was sure he wasn't going to flop and he wasn't going to be sick he took note of the room. It was brightly lit but very boring. The walls hadn't been painted and were made of concrete. The furniture was all very fancy looking wood. There was a fancy wooden cabinet on one side, a fancy wooden book shelf with books and fancy wooden ornaments. In front of him was a fancy wooden table that looked unnecessarily big.

The man on the other side of the desk looked worn out but kept himself professional.

When someone started poking him with a gun he realised he was being talked to. One of the idiots that had brought him in was listing through the languages again. Finally he asked in English.

"What language do you speak?" he asked, poking Peter with his gun.

"English," Peter croaked. "And can you please stop poking me with that thing. You poke people with sticks, not guns."

The man opposite him gave an amused smirk and brushed the man off with a wave.

"Who are you?" the man asked, his accent was thicker than the other guy's had been.

"Can I ask a question first?" Peter asked. His throat was sore and his pride felt as floppy and weak as his limbs. "What the hell is going on?"

"I will answer if you answer me this, what year are you from?" the man smirked as Peter's worst fears started coming true. He had hoped this was all a set up.

"2015?" Peter said nervously.

"Amazing, I did not believe Degaton when he said it would work. I guess I am the fool here." The guy in charge grinned. His grin then dropped. "But why send you, you can barely sit let alone help."

"Okay, you are making no sense, literally zilch. What is going on? And why would I help you, you're evil!" Peter complained.

"Who says we're evil?" The man questioned becoming slightly stiff.

"Everyone, history books, old people, teachers, internet, people in general." Peter listed.

"People are ignorant." The man snarled. He got out of his seat and stalked around to the other side of the desk. Peter smirked.

"How does the saying go? Something about how the winners write the history books." Peter stated mockingly. "What does that say about you?"

The man slapped Peter so hard he felt his neck snap badly. He was back on the floor which was upsetting and now his cheek burned. He could also taste blood, it appeared his lip was split.

"You will speak to me properly!" the man snapped. "I am the commander of this base, you shall treat me as such."

The man stormed over and lifted Peter up by his hair.

"Why were you sent, why you!" the man shouted. He lifted Peter's shirt and examined the blue scar that was just above his torso, slightly to right. Peter just squirmed at being held up by his hair.

"Guess he thought I looked pretty." Peter tried feebly.

The commander started laughing.

"You were a mistake, Per Degaton hits each target in the same place, you were not on purpose." The commander stated. He lifted Peter high enough so they were face to face. "If it was not you who was supposed to be shot, who was?"

Peter just glared as much as he could.

"ANSWER ME!" the man commanded.

Saved by the bell had never been a more accurate term. An alarm drilled through the room and echoed through the corridors.

The Commander dropped Peter so he collapsed to the floor painfully. There were words shouted in German and Peter was dragged out again, this time with much more urgency.

Peter could feel the strength slowly but surely enter his legs. It wasn't much but it was an improvement. Peter shifted so his feet dragged a little less and he started attempting to stand. It was futile with how they were dragging him.

"I've got left." Shouted an American voice.

"Fine." Retorted a French accent.

Two gun shots later and Peter plummeted right back down to the ground. At least this time he caught himself with his arms. The guards escorting him now lay dead either side of him. This time Peter really was having trouble keeping dinner down. He closed his eyes and focused on swallowing. It wasn't like he hadn't seen horrible things as Spider-man but that was never easy, and this was another level. He was stuck in a war, these men were seeping blood and it was flooding towards him. He could feel his jeans start to get wet at the knees.

Heavy, firm hands landed on his shoulders causing Peter to jump. His eyes sprung open at the same time.

"Breath kid." The large man said. He had a thick moustache that looked like it sprouted from his nose and just spread downwards.

Peter nodded vigorously, trying to exhale and inhale.

The man in front of Peter ran his eyes over Peter quickly as if to check he wouldn't suddenly drop dead.

"Jones, Morita, secure the rooms." Two more men appeared behind them and went through the way Peter had come. He tried to block out the constant gun fire. "Jacques, I'll get our young friend out of here, cover my back."

'Jacques' nodded before taking lead.

Moustache man hefted Peter to his feet where he wobbled uncertainly. After deciding the teenager wouldn't be able to make his own way out, moustache man put his arm around Peter's waist and pulled Peter's arm over his shoulders.

"Hang tight, kid. We'll get you out." Moustache man stated before starting after Jacques.

"All clear Dum Dum." Jacques called from the next left turn.

Dum Dum? Peter was getting a serious sense of deja vu.

It felt like forever until they made it up to fresh air. Sadly they'd had to climb a lot of stairs. Snow littered the ground. It was only then Peter actually registered that he only had socks on. There was no reason for shoes on Saturday night.

Dum Dum also noticed his predicament and took a left to hide behind the nearest object which just happened to be few barrels. They crouched low in case of gun fire.

"Think you can make it to our truck?" Dum Dum asked glancing from the teen's face to his feet and back.

Peter nodded and they started moving again. He regretted it immediately but kept quiet. If this was who he thought it was, he really didn't want to look any more pathetic.

They reached a large military truck and Jacques stood there with an open door. Dum Dum helped Peter inside and then instructed Jacques to go back and help out if there was anything left. The gun fire had practically all stopped. Jacques ran off.

"You okay there kid?" Dum Dum asked as Peter shivered. With no powers came no advantages against the cold. The idea of having to learn how to adjust to being puny Peter Parker made him almost want to cry.

Peter nodded mutely.

"Yeah right." Dum Dum scoffed before taking off his own green army jacket and wrapping it around Peter's shivering form. It was so snug and warm. "You got a name?"

"Peter." Peter croaked.

Dum Dum rolled his eyes and rummaged around in the truck before producing a metal container. Inside was the most delicious water Peter had ever tasted.

"You know, when someone asks if you're alright, you're supposed to say 'I'm cold and thirsty'." Dum Dum pointed out with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah but my aunt said to never talk to strangers." Peter retorted. It felt so nice not having a sore throat. "She also said not to take things from them but this is comfy, I'm keeping it."

Peter snuggled further into the coat. Dum Dum laughed.

"So, Peter, care to tell me what you're doin' in a place like this?" Dum Dum asked.

Peter could see others emerging from the treeline around them. They all walked pretty relaxed and loudly which didn't bother Dum Dum. He assumed they were friendly.

"I thought I'd go for a stroll in the area." Peter said with a weak shrug.

"Sure." Dum Dum rolled his eyes.

"Back up arrived. We left them to do clean up." Jacques called over as they got closer.

Dum Dum looked over and nodded and gave a thumbs up.

"Peter, meet the Howling Commandoes, the team that saved your arse." Dum Dum said with a bit of a bite in his words. Peter just assumed he was bitter about not being told the truth.

Peter gave a weak wave.

The men piled in the car after an argument on who would drive. Apparently Dum Dum was a deadly driver, and someone called Happy Sam shouldn't be allowed near the wheel.

They all settled in with Peter squished in the back where the others except the driver, a Jim Morita, and the guy who called shotgun, a Brit name Falsworth. The remaining people sat opposite each other on two benches where they could overlook the scenery through the back.

Dum Dum introduced the only person Peter didn't catch the name of as Gabe Jones.

The four commandoes sat arguing in the back while Peter tried to drown out the noise. This was so surreal. He wanted his grandpa to shake his shoulder and just tell him to get up. If he was going to go to sleep he had to put away his Chinese and go to bed. It had to happen. Peter tried to pinch himself. It really hurt!

"You know," Jacques said. "If you think you're dreaming, can you think of some beautiful French women?"

"French aren't the best, think of a Russian woman sitting next to me!" Happy Sam cut in, joining in the joke. The other laughed.

"I wouldn't get with a Russian," Falsworth called from the front in a deep British voice. "Ask Dum Dum, the last one he was with tried to kill 'im."

"But she was a beauty." Dum Dum argued dreamily.

"Aye," Jim Morita said. "She was, and so was her knife. Haven't seen a knife with such a beautiful red hilt before and never will again."

Conversation continued as such for hours. Peter drifted off at some point. His last thought being 'I hope I don't drool'.