I was living in my first home, in the future. My parents had passed, it was just me now. I was looking out from my childhood room at the night-lit driveway. I had 3-4 cars out there, their cars plus mine, even though I hardly drove. A storm was brewing and I backed away from the windows as the wind lashed rain against them. It was very dark, and chilly. I looked out from the living room and wondered why the house didn't look renovated. I had to be dreaming, but it didn't feel like a dream, and I couldn't wake up. I kept trying but the normal motion just didn't do anything. Things became a bit more feverish but I was trapped, and I wondered if my waking illness was worse than I thought.
It wasn't the worst place to be trapped, a rainy dark image of my childhood home. I controlled my breathing and considered exploring the attic.
Same night: I was part of the 8-Bit Theater, Final Fantasy 1 team. Oddly I wasn't red mage, despite accepting the obscure fanon that she's trans. It wasn't clear who I was. We were at a different childhood home which had originally belonged to a great-aunt, though with many liberties. She was the villain actually. As we did the typical JRPG attacks, she monologued her plan about dominating the local homeowner's association, trading favors and bribes to get really petty considerations. And slighting her rivals by adjusting their trash pickup, that sort of thing. It would have been funny except she was a hell of a boss fight.
We got her down several stages, she was a reptilian dragon-like creature now. But we were tired and sloppy, and my teammates fell. I could rescue them, but first I hid behind a wall and tried to think. This felt impossible, even though we'd made progress. I felt utterly drained. I snuck out of cover and grabbed Red Mage's corpse (a hat- "dead" characters became easily-carried objects). I spat on my hands, wriggled them sidereal, and exclaimed "Life!" in hopes that I could BS reality into casting one more spell. Didn't work this time.
She had a little IT room to manage her corporate-level internet connection which she didn't understand and barely used, but enjoyed the status of having.
Out of resigned desperation I dragged myself to an interior balcony (liberties with the house layout- or maybe representing the time the ceiling fell). There were grandfather clocks up there containing rare DND source books. I shoved one over the edge. I couldn't even see whether it landed near her, but she stopped monologuing. I shoved down the other just in case.
I made my way down. She was like a draconic alligator, flattened and unconscious but still moving. I had an axe. White mages wield hammers and axes. I was the healer and the girl, of course I was. It was so heavy to lift, but I began doing what I could.