So they all come together for RPG night.
The one who uses the super-speed and equivalently fast thinking to move through mountains of of paperwork in moments.
The person who delivers papers and parcels for a living, and canvases like you wouldn't believe during the political season, all using teleportation.
The person who uses their super-strength to bend get the stuff they're sent (which is never to spec no matter how many complaints they lodge) to fit together correctly on the manufacturing floor.
The one whose social anxiety isn't helped at all by knowing that people hold zir in high regard through telepathic means because what if the power is wrong, what if that's what the person wants zir to think and deeper down . . . social anxiety cannot be stopped by logic, reason, and telepathy.
The person with wings who has to hide all the time because they're so conspicuous but has a friend sell their aerial photography.
The cook at the brick oven pizza place who is having troubles because ze happens to be heir to some of the most powerful bloodline linked magic in existence and none of it makes any sense. (Loves AD&D (second edition) because the magic is all explained and quantified in a thousand rule books. Unlike the real thing that just slams you with something that overturns your paradigm every time you think you might have the cursory beginnings of a theory.)
The immortal, child of Pompeii, who thought ze finally understood the modern world until World War I and is still reeling from how bizarre and inconceivable the whole thing is. Works as a research assistant. Zir Latin is impeccable, the English could use some work. It limits the value of the translations.
The experiment. Passes for human in dimly lit places with the hoodie hood up. Climbs walls like a gecko, has gills like a fish, retractable claws that serve as a paralytic delivery system, healing is second only to the immortal, eyes that can see the full spectrum and the various polarizations, so on, so forth. Works inventory at a big box store. After hours of course.
RPG night is on Saturdays, and once a month they try to do something bigger together. A lot of them gripe about people telling them that they've got great responsibility. Why? What hideous crime did any of them commit to deny them the chance at a regular life given to others?
Pizza, soda, the immortal has all the best wine, and some of the others bring beer. Sometimes there's pot.
It may be the time when they're most openly different, but it's the only time any of them ever truly feel normal. They kick back, have fun, and relieve stress with people who see them as people. Not gods. Not monsters. Not protectors or threats. People.