This is drips and drabs of an AU I'm piecing together, but it works pretty well as a whole, I think.

"So you've already met the Comrade," a clipped English accent echoed slightly behind something that looked a little bit like a lion's head and a little bit like a medieval helm. But that was probably why he was called Lion Heart.

"Yeah," Alfred said darkly, rubbing his jaw gingerly, "I met his right hook. The Ruskie packs a wallop."

"Yes, quite. It is encased in ice and all. But I wouldn't let him catch you calling him that," Lion Heart warned, the lips that were visible under his half-face helm curving into an amused smile, "Speaking of, do you have a name yet?"

"No," the blond paused. He had a mask on, and it wasn't as though he'd let his real name slip. He wasn't exactly positive that he wanted any of these people to know him by name, "But if you have to call me something, you can call me Hero."

"Right," Lion Heart's voice was tart, "Not as stupid as you look then. I might as well introduce you to the rest of the team. This way," the man in the golden suit of armour said, his footsteps ringing on the slate floor as he lead the newly dubbed Hero through the dark corridors and past different rooms.

The paused outside some kind of training room. Cracks and snaps echoed as something long and black slithered through obstacles at lightning speed. A gout of flame singed a punching bag.

"Dragoon," Lion Heart called, sounding slightly bored, "We have a new recruit; come say hello." Grudgingly, a small man stepped out of the obstacle course. He was small and thin, and had his hair pulled back into a ponytail. What surprised Alfred the most were the scales that covered his face; making it impossible to see the top half of his face, "Dragoon, this is Hero; standard Alexandrian package. Hero, this is Dragoon; pyrokinetic, metamorph and immortal. Not someone to play silly buggers with the way you did me."

Alfred stuck out a hand to shake, grinning enthusiastically. Dragoon's hand was slight in his but he had a grip like a boa constrictor, "A pleasure," he said, an Asian accent touching his voice.

"Thanks, it's great to meet you, too!" the young American said enthusiastically.

Before Alfred had even let go of the other hero's hand, his guide was already moving along. Jogging to catch up with him, he asked, "So, if that's what Dragoon is, then what does that make the Comrade? And you?"

A slight sneer touched Lion Heart's lips, "The Comrade is hydrokinetic and resistant to cold. His favourite trick is to freeze the water in the air so that his opponent can't breathe and falls unconscious. There've been a few cases of frostbite, but all in all he's kept himself well under control during his time here."

"And you?" Alfred repeated eagerly.

"Lad, I create matter out of energy, what more do you want from me?" the senior super asked resignedly.

"Maybe why you're dressed up like Richard the Lionheart?" Before any answer could be given, there was a snap like a twig being stepped on, and a man dressed in a black suit appeared. He was wearing and ornate black eye-mask which made his eyes look brighter and his blond hair paler.

"A valid question, mon coeur," the newcomer said casually, holding out his hand. With another snap, a glass of wine appeared in it. Alfred raised his eyebrows; suitably impressed.

Lion Heart gave a long-suffering sigh, "Hero, this is Masque; a teleporter. That wine is doubtless from the kitchen."

As suddenly as it had appeared, the wine was gone, replaced with a dozen red roses, which Masque offered to Lion Heart with an apologetic pout, "How have I offended you this time?"

"Maybe by thieving those roses, you bloody klepto. Send them back to whichever florist you got them from!"

"Florist? Mon coeur, these are from your garden!"

"What?!"

While the other two were arguing, Alfred stuck his head around the door, looking in on a fairly average games room. This must be where everyone went to relax a little after a hard day's saving people. The idea appealed to him immensely.

He's forgotten someone.

"Has he?" the American asked.

"Yup~" looking down, Alfred gasped, jumping away and feeling his back hit the wall. Standing right in front of him, barely reaching his waist was himself. Age five, if he had to hazard a guess, all wreathed in gap-toothed smiles. Blond hair, blue eyes, the whole nine yards.

"Lion Heart!" he called, "A little warning about the metamorph would have been nice!"

"What?" the English accent sounded as though it was growing closer, but Alfred didn't want to look away from the boy, "I told you about Dragoon- Walker, what the hell d'you think you're doing?"

"Nuthin'," the boy cooed in Alfred's voice.

"Well, I suppose this would have happened eventually; Hero, this is Skin Walker. So named not because he looks like you but because he gets under your skin." It was hard to discern the English super's expression, but Alfred would have put good money on 'uncomfortable.'

"That is the weirdest super power I have ever heard of," the American snorted, and the boy before him melted away – replaced with a translucent spectre that was all gaunt eyes and dragging shackles.

"Says the guy who can see ghosts. That's a new one," the figure shifted again, this time a perfect reflection of Alfred.

"How did you do that?" the original American demanded, a little bit afraid. He'd never told anyone that before. Sure, he had the standard-issue super-hero kit; super-strength, super-speed, flying, and invulnerability. But was the ability to see ghosts really on that list?

"Not-so-standard Alexandrian," Lion Heart said lightly, completely unphased.

"I'm a telepath," the imitation-Alfred said with a grin, "I'm inside your head. I can make you see whatever I want. Which means you won't be seeing me," it took less time than it took to blink for Skin Walker to vanish from sight, "Until I want you to."

"So you tell my brain what you want me to see and it makes me see it?" Alfred asked dazedly, collapsed on the couch and talking to the giant polar bear besides him. Living in a house full of superheroes was like living life on acid.

"Pretty much," the bear yawned, spreading out over the cushions and morphing until it became a giant white throw rug. Still fur.

"Dude, that's fucked up," the American laughed. The most he had managed to get out of Skin Walker was that he was Canadian (well, that and some frankly, terrifying, information about his power.)

"It's pretty sweet. I can make people see, feel, taste and smell whatever I want them to. Only downside is, it's not really there. Just because you can't see me doesn't mean I'm not there. I can't tell you the times Masque has bumped into me on his way through. Of course, once he does that, he tries to feel me up. A pain in my ass, really. Literally. He probably has the best idea of what I actually look like," the rug chuckled, and Alfred stroked it experimentally. It felt like fur, but he pushed past that until he felt the rough texture of denim under his fingers. The leg jerked away; replaced by the sensation of a very large set of teeth clamping down on his arm.

"Walker?" he asked cautiously, looking down at the bear that had its teeth in his forearm. Normally, a bear wouldn't be a problem, but a mind-bear could make him feel like he was actually being bitten and it gave him the chills.

"Like I tell Masque," the telepath said quietly, "No touching."

"Okay, okay, no touching; I get it!" The teeth pressed into his skin for a second longer before vanishing, and Alfred cradled his arm to his chest, "You have got to be the scariest of the lot."

"I don't know. Leo's pretty nifty with his atomic rearrangement, and I definitely don't want to get on the wrong side of the Comrade. Dragoon's pretty unpleasant to tangle with, too. Not to mention you, young Superman. Masque is probably the most harmless, power-wise. Still nasty at close quarters, he doesn't fight fair," the rug shifted slightly, shifting further up the couch.

"Physical threats," the newest superhero said dismissively, "You're in my head. All the time. That's terrifying."

"Scarier than ghosts?" Skin Walker teased.

"Hey! You see? That's what I'm talking about. You know everything about me without me even saying a damn thing," Alfred shifted a little further away from the throw, only to have it disappear.

If I asked you, would you tell me?

He hated it when Walker spoke directly into his mind, but he was slightly more than distracted by the buxom blonde who had just appeared in his lap.

Would you, Alfred?

"You know my name!"

"Since the moment you walked in the door, but you're still not answering my question," she pouted, crossing her legs and throwing an arm around his shoulder, "Or maybe I'm not your type?" The image shifted, and instead of the high-class hooker, there was now a down-home country girl in his lap, a smudge of dirt of her nose and the smell of hay and apples about her.

"Walker-"

"Would you tell me?" Hands pressed against Alfred's shoulders and there was a boy straddling his lap, slight and pale with huge indigo eyes and wavy, pale blond hair. His mouth was on Alfred's neck, lips soft and warm, just the way he liked them.

"Are you the real Skin Walker?" the American asked stiffly. The boy in his lap shifted, nibbling his lower lip and averting his eyes.

"No," he admitted, "But what does that matter? What does it matter if I don't look like myself? "

"It matters to me," Alfred's expression was cool, "I'll answer the real Skin Walker."

The boy's eyes narrowed, and he leant in, "Are you sure I couldn't persuade you? I'm very good at persuasion. I can make the pleasure centre of your brain light up like a Christmas tree."

"Show me what you really look like," the American insisted stubbornly. He was horribly aware that, if he really wanted to, Walker could just make him answer, or pick the answer straight out of his mind.

"I have nothing more to say to you," the telepath said coldly, removing himself neatly from Alfred's lap and stalking out of the room. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that the sway of the young man's hips was attractive.

"Okay, we're up against the Kaiser, Lindor and Kuro," Lion Heart said, marching up and down along the line his team had formed like a parade-ground general, hands tucked behind his back and expression grim, "Hero, like you, Kaiser is an Alexandrian, but he's also a great tactician. I want you to keep him occupied, alright? The man is built like a tank, so that could be a bit of a challenge, but I have faith in you. Walker, Lindor is an empath. He has a nasty habit of exacerbating people's fatal flaws, so I suggest you put him out of action as quickly as possible. Physically, he's useless, but if you let him, he'll turn you into an animal. Kuro is fast, and a technopath to boot. Dragoon, I want you and the Comrade to slow him down. I'll be helping Walker deal with Lindor, and Masque, I want you to give Hero a hand with Kaiser, understand?"

A chorus of affirmative noises rose from the assembled heroes and Lion Heart held out a hand to Masque, "If you would do the honours?"

"Whatever you like, mon Coeur," Masque cooed, and with a snap and a rush, they were in the middle of a deserted street outside the federal reserve bank of America. Three figures stood opposite to them, one large, two small. One man was wearing a venetian carnival mask, it's distorted features grinning wickedly at the heroes. The other was dressed as some kind of cyborg ninja. The tallest and broadest was wearing a half-face gasmask.

It was Alfred who stuck his fingers between his lips and blew the most horribly, nails-down-a-chalk-board piercing whistle he could. It wasn't a power, just a trick he'd picked up when he spent his summers ranching in Montana. The ninja-cyborg (presumably Kuro) drew a sword. Walker vanished as the little one in carnival getup giggled and clapped thin brown hands excitedly.

The Kaiser started forward, challenging the line before him, seeing who would step out. Alfred hesitated a moment before facing the challenge. It wasn't that he didn't think he could beat the Kaiser six ways from Sunday – he had every faith in that – but he was a little bit daunted by the veritable army of spectres that seemed to follow him.

"You are the one they call Hero?" Kaiser's accent was very thickly German, "You are arrogant."

Alfred shrugged, "It's a nickname that stuck. So. How many people did you kill? I can't be bothered to count just now, but I'm looking at fifty or so."

The German paled, pulling a fist back and aiming it for the Hero's head.

Guys! Guys, we have a problem!

"What?" Alfred heard himself snap as he narrowly avoided having an army boot-tread imprinted on his ribcage.

The technopath can see me! If he takes me out, you're allfucked.

"That's a bit presumptuous, lad," Lion Heart growled, parrying a blow from two long, nastily pointed daggers. He'd underestimated his opponent more than a little.

Lindor is much more powerful than you gave him credit for. If I can't keep shielding you all, then Hero's temper alone is going to wipe out a three block radius.

"What are you-?"

Fatal flaws, Leo! The seven deadly sins! As far as I can tell, he's judged yours and Dragoon's as pride, the Comrade as greed and the Hero as wrath. He can't get a handle on Masque or I because he can't find us. But he has some kind of attachment to the Kaiser, so he'll go for Hero first and that is the last fucking thing we want to happen. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

The words in their minds were loud and insistent. Almost panicked.

Walker, can you not change what he sees? Dragoon's voice was soft and fuzzy, like a bad radio station. It was easier to speak than to use the telepathic link Skin Walker had set up except in emergencies.

He's built a fucking computer into his brain! I can't do anything; his signals go through circuitry, not neurons, and I can't get at him. He's seeing in infrared and he's picking me up loud and clear. Someone needs to take him out. Now!

Walker, you come stand by me, buddy, Alfred thought loudly, I'm almost finished up with the Kaiser, here. I'll keep you safe.

Thanks. Heading your way n-shit! Kuro's on the move!

Hissing under his breath, Alfred upped the speed and force of his punches. The Kaiser may have had a lot more training, but Hero was stronger and he was steadily beating the German down with sheer brute force. Lion Heart had also upped the ante and was going at Lindor like nobody's business.

Left hook to the jaw, blocked. Right hook, hit. Knee to stomach, elbow to base of the skull; down. Thank God.

"Walker? Bro, where are you?"

"Here," the telepath must have been right behind him, because he was whispering straight in his ear.

"Kaiser!" Lindor screamed, and Alfred heard a grunt from behind him, and hands – larger than any he could remember being projected – gripped his shoulders.

"He's gone off the deep end," Walker hissed, voice strained.

"Just a little longer. Look, Masque, Dragoon and the Comrade have Kuro under control. Can you stay here for a second while I help Leo with that?" It had been a while since the American superhero had gotten into any kind of dust-up that made him feel like he was going to have bruises the next morning, but he got the feeling that the Kaiser had given him a complete going over.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." The telepath snapped, and a hand pushed briefly at Alfred's back, urging him forward. Glancing back, he saw a vague figure flickering there. Which was alarming, because Walker could make every one of the group see different things at the same time while still covering himself. Having someone sap all his concentration at once was not a good thing. Especially because, from what Al could gather, he was in street clothes under all that mindfuckery. No costume. No mask.

The fight with Lindor didn't take long after that. He was too busy dodging Alfred to pay them amount of attention he should have to Lion Heart or Skin Walker, and with a rather audiblesmack, the English super cracked him over the head with the butt of his sword.

"Where's Kuro?" the Brit panted as he and Hero jogged to join them.

"Don't know," the Comrade's voice was muffled behind his scarf, "He ran. Could not catch."

"Shiiiiiit," Alfred groaned, turning around, "Walker? Walker, where are-" he stopped dead. There was a figure lying in the middle of the ruined asphalt. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck,fuck!" It took a half second for him to reach the Canadian's side. Pulling off the shirt of his uniform, he eased it under the telepath's head.

"The bloody hell do you think you're doing?" an irate Lion Heart asked, beating both Dragoon and Masque to the punch.

"Damage control," Alfred said shortly, scooping the unconscious form into his arms and rocketing into the air before anyone could try and stop him.

"Where am I?" were the first words out of Skin Walker's mouth when he woke up on Alfred's bed, the next words were slightly less comforting, "Oh, fuck."

"You're in my dorm room," the American said easily, handing the other a glass of water, "And it's not that messy."

He'd been surprised, once he had gotten the other super to safety and finally relaxed, to find that Walker didn't seem to be much older than he did. He also seemed a lot more average than Alfred had given him credit for; messy hair, a bit longer than was conventional, nose a little broken. Certainly not bad looking. Not nearly enough to warrant wanting to be invisible ninety-per cent of the time.

"Why?" Walker paused to take the glass, eyeing it and Alfred before taking a sip, "Thank you, but why?"

"Cause I figured you wanted as few people seeing your face as possible, and frankly, I can throw those guys further than I trust them," the American shrugged nonchalantly.

"Just as well, I'm completely exhausted. I'm going to need to get home and crash before I'm fit for anything. I can't even read your mind right now," as he spoke, he drew his arms and legs up to his chest, making himself as small as possible. Which, considering that he had maybe an inch on Alfred, was actually kind of adorable.

"You can crash here for a while if you like, my roommate transferred to Louisiana and I haven't gotten a new one yet. Is there anyone you need to call?" he offered a cordless phone, wiggling it temptingly.

Carefully, his eyes wide and wary, Walker sat up, only to slam his eyes shut again.

"You okay, dude?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Hero. Just dizzy," pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, the telepath looked around properly, "No, I don't need to call anyone."

"Okay, cool. I have a physics exam in a few days, so aside from my screams or rage and frustration, it should be pretty quiet around here. I'll let you get some sleep. And you can call me Al, if you want. We're not in uniform," Patting the bed lightly, Alfred headed for the door, "Sweet dreams, Skin Walker."

"Matthew." Alfred stopped dead, "You've seen my face. You might as well know that my name is Matthew."