It's a Super Power To Have by Dan Bieger

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SUMMARY: Entry for Spetember Flash Fiction Contest

The Legion turned him down, you know. They accepted his talent as real; they just didn't see it fitting in with what they do.
The other universe's Vengeancers followed suit for similar reasons. For all the other Fantastical, Teen, Y-women, et al, super teams in all the alternate universes the answer remained constant: yeah, you qualify but you don't fit.
He did, then, what all loners do. He sequestered himself away from all the worlds save for his two companions: the pre-pubescent little boy, Pete, and the love-of-his-life newspaper woman, Louise Line. Pete was still in Middle School and Carol did the classified ads for the local weekly. They visited him daily, made certain he had food in the refrigerator, delivered his mail from the box downstairs. Carol did his laundry.
In later years, in his exposé memoir, Pete revealed the basis for their friendship. When you have red hair, freckles, minimal physical endowment, a severe enough crippling of your leg to require a crutch, a penchant for blue shirts, pants, and shoes and a high-pitched cracking voice, the availability of best friends, nodding acquaintances, or even remotely recognized folk seemed the most far-fetched of dreams. When some guy takes a liking to you, helps you out here and there with homework or understanding the world or sharing a fascination for arachnoids of all stripes or figuring out what to say to Mary Jeane, then you attach yourself to that person as the only life-line available in a sea of desperation.
For her part, Louise's dreams of being the next Stella Brendan kept her loitering. She had this unshakeable belief he'd finally do something that would give her the scoop of the century and force old J Jim Jonahson to recognize her reporting talent.
She thought it had finally happened the day that little pest, Pete, came hobbling as fast as his leg permitted into his friend's apartment with the news that the local branch of the 40th National Bank of Wittenberg – their slogan was: Your money is the limit of our world – had just been robbed by a gang of caped crusaders. Really, he repeated, crusaders with Flag of England crosses on their tunics, shiny helmets, shiny boots, and shiny capes. The only injury had been a broad sword slap to the crown an old biddy who complained they were taking cuts in the line she had been standing in for 23 minutes.
What had they taken? he asked. The question had pulled Pete up short. Taken? Why they had robbed the bank, hadn't they? They must have taken a zillion pounds. Pete had been further abashed when the hero had reminded the boy that this was not England so if they had taken a zillion pounds, then a zillion pounds of what?
Pete stopped, then, and thought about his information. He knew there had been a robbery. He knew the villains were caped crusaders. But, that was all he knew. Shame-faced, he reported the same to his friend.
Louise loved this part. The guy had brushed Pete's hair - just one of the habits associated with his talent, of course, but it made him almost endearing - and told the boy to think about what he had seen.