A New Life in Modern Family

I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon

________________________________________

Chapter 109: Hammer and Nails

Jon's Perspective

All I really wanted after the vet appointment fiasco—honestly, desperately hoped for—was that the rest of the weekend would go quietly. That's not so much to ask, right? No unexpected drama, no surprise drop-ins, and certainly no self-proclaimed feline mediums sending "healing affirmations" to Ghost through interpretive meowing. Just me, my couch, a ridiculously soft throw blanket, a tray of snacks curated with surgical precision, and maybe a rewatch of that old detective series where everyone looks vaguely guilty and somehow not a single person in the entire cast knows how to use a flashlight without blinding themselves.

But, of course, the universe had other plans. Sunday morning rolled in with a phone call. From Phil Dunphy. Who is, depending on how much coffee he's had, either a golden retriever in human form or a motivational TED Talk that's been set loose in the wild.

"Jon! Buddy!" he practically yelled through the phone. "I need a favor. A manly favor."

I froze mid-bite of my toast. Peanut butter, perfectly ratioed to crunch. My weekend had already taken a turn. "Define 'manly,'" I said cautiously, because with Phil, that could mean anything from chopping down a tree to helping him select cologne based on personality archetypes.

"Treehouse!" he declared, like it was the final answer on a game show. "For Luke. It's exactly what a growing boy needs in his life. Fresh air, wood planks, bonding time. You in?"

I turned my head to look at Ghost, who was currently living his best life—curled into a loaf on my pillow like royalty. I sighed. Then I remembered all the bizarre but somehow helpful things Phil had done for me—like helping with my dance problem, or that time he explained dental floss with a level of detail that would make a hygienist weep.

"Yeah," I said, closing my eyes. "I'm in."

Dunphy Backyard – 10:47 AM

When I pulled into the Dunphy driveway and made my way around back, Phil was already operating at maximum Dad Mode. Full gear: utility belt, oversized safety goggles that made him look like a bug with ambition, and a travel mug that proudly proclaimed Measure Twice, Brag Once. The man was ready.

Luke was also there, looking far less ready and about as enthusiastic as a boy can get when told they'll be participating in "outdoor activities."

"I'm not really a treehouse guy," Luke muttered in my direction, arms crossed, clearly hoping the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

Phil, ever the optimist, overheard and refused to be deterred. "Of course you are! You just don't know it yet."

I gave Luke a sympathetic nod. "Don't worry. I'm just here to hold the ladder and convince your dad not to use phrases like 'load-bearing dreams' again."

Phil clapped me on the back like we were going to war together. "That's the spirit! Two bros. One project."

Hardware Store – 11:30 AM

We walked into the hardware store like men on a mission. And then we spent twenty-five actual minutes in the fastener aisle.

That's not an exaggeration.

Because Phil, God bless him, insisted we needed to find screws and nails that were "spiritually aligned" with the essence of the treehouse. Not just functionally adequate—no, no. These had to feel right. Had to resonate on a "vibrational level." I think he might've actually saged the cart at one point.

"Phil," I said, holding up a totally normal, structurally sound box of galvanized nails, "they're just nails. Metal sticks. Gravity enablers. Can we please just pick one?"

He shook his head with solemn determination. "Jon. These are not just nails. These are the invisible threads that hold childhood magic together."

Eventually, I gave in. He chose the nails with packaging that featured a cartoon beaver giving a thumbs-up. If that made him feel like Bob Vila's spiritual heir, who was I to argue?

Dunphy Backyard – 1:00 PM

Construction began.

And by "construction," I mean we opened the instruction manual, Phil got overly confident, ignored half of it, and we had to restart twice after realizing we'd built something that defied both logic and physics.

At one point, while theatrically wiping sweat from his forehead like he was starring in a summer blockbuster titled Nailed It: The Phil Dunphy Story, he turned to me and said, "Jon, you are the bro I always wanted."

I looked at him. "What about Mitchell?"

"He doesn't appreciate gabled roofs," Phil said with the air of a man who has faced true betrayal.

Despite the setbacks—and questionable engineering—we actually started to make progress. A shape began to emerge. Not exactly a stable shape. OSHA would have strong words about it. But it resembled a structure. Luke came out at one point carrying a tray of snacks, which I'm 70% sure he brought out as a stalling tactic. Or possibly as an attempt to grease up the tools with chip dust.

Mostly, he just sat on the grass and watched his dad narrate every step of the build like he was hosting a one-man DIY channel no one asked for.

Mid-Afternoon – 3:45 PM

Somehow, by the time the sun began its lazy descent, the treehouse was…standing. I won't say it was sturdy. I won't even say it was straight. But it was upright. It existed. And Phil looked at it like he had just unveiled the eighth wonder of the world.

"I built this for you, Luke," he said, hands on hips, beaming. "For us."

Luke shrugged. "Yeah, it's cool, I guess. But, like... could we turn it into a gaming den instead?"

Phil froze. I could practically hear his heart deflating like a balloon with a slow leak.

Luke caught himself. "But, uh, it's still really cool. Super cool. Thanks, Dad."

Phil's face faltered just the tiniest bit. Most people wouldn't have noticed. But I did.

So I stepped in.

"Hey, Phil? This thing's awesome. Seriously. You and Luke should have a camp-out night in there sometime. No tech. Just stars, stories, snacks... and your encyclopedic knowledge of how to deter raccoons with household items."

That made Phil laugh, and Luke—bless him—nodded. "Yeah. That... could actually be kind of fun."

Evening – 6:00 PM

By the time I finally dragged myself home, I was sore in muscles I didn't even know existed. My clothes were basically a wearable sawdust trap. I had splinters in places that felt deeply unfair. I'm also 90% sure I swallowed a wood chip, but I'm choosing to ignore that.

Still, I'd helped Phil. I'd been part of something, however structurally questionable. And weirdly? That felt... really good.

I collapsed onto my couch like a man who had fought nature and gravity and survived. Ghost padded over, climbed onto my chest like a smug little heater, and purred like he'd spent the whole day winning at life.

"Don't judge," I told him.

Ghost blinked slowly, purred louder, and didn't move.

I'm taking that as approval.

And that, for today, is enough.