Dan obviously hadn't heard it.

There wasn't so much as a creak of the mattress from the bedroom, and Phil wasn't going to sit around and wait to see if his friend would come, either; instead, he sprang off the barstool, almost knocking it backwards in the process, and darted outside in not quite a run but not a walk either, to the huge tree way past the garden where he had earlier seen the kids playing.

Dab wasn't his son. He wasn't his grandson. He wasn't even flesh and blood, but a creator would know the voice of their own creation anywhere, and it was only natural to help him.

Dab was sat on the ground, Evan beside him, with dirt and bits of grass stuck all up the left side of his T-shirt. He was clutching his arm with his right hand and he had tears running through the mud on his cheeks.

"Hey, are you OK there, pal?" Phil swallowed, dropping to his knees to be on eye-level, "What happened?"

"We were climbing the tree," Evan told him, looking down at his reddened eyes contrasting his white skin, "He fell."

Phil reached to check over Dab's arm and, as gently as he could, felt across it. His heart was still beating rapidly from the sudden noise, and he was almost panting from having to race across the garden, too.

"I think it's just a sprain," he assured the kid, before swallowing, loudly, standing up and holding a hand out, "Come on, let's get inside."

Dab took his hand and shakily got up. It must have been a pretty nasty fall: the tree was relatively tall and, even though there was grass covering the ground, there was probably dozens of little sharp stones in the soil. Dab closely followed his carer back into the cosy house and was seated at the green dining chair whilst Phil dampened a flannel cloth to try and ease the sprain.

"You've gotta' be careful," he muttered, as he laid it over the child's arm, as gently as he could, "Especially climbing trees that tall – I'm surprised that you've only gotten a sprain from this and not something worse."

Dab sniffed and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. He seemed a little bit confused… Phil assumed it was from the fall, but it was more confusion as to why his mood had changed so fast.

"Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?" Dab asked, quietly, and Phil paused for a while, in a state of almost uncertainty, his hand getting really soggy because he hadn't removed it from the wet flannel yet.

"W… Why? Well… because…" he stuttered, struggling for words, "Uh… why not? Because you're my responsibility, I suppose, and I-… care. It doesn't matter what I say; you're my creation and I do care, and I always will… Ach- that was cheesy, forget I said that-"

Dab chuckled, happily, at him, and Phil couldn't help but smile back a bit for the first time since he'd gone off with Dan at the park: an actual smile for once.

Phil didn't say anything else, but got to his feet, his joints clicking, and stole into the bathroom to fetch some generic antiseptic cream and perhaps a bandage. He'd never really been very good at treating injuries, but he did all he could really think to do, and it seemed to work as good as anything. He ensured that the bandage was properly wrapped around and wouldn't slip off, that all the mud was wiped off the kid's face, and he gave a gentle smirk.

"Now, don't go climbing any trees," he warned, kneeling on the floor "Keep yourself grounded."

"I will," Dab assured him, getting up from the chair, to his feet, "Thank you, Uncle Phil."

And before he could think of anything to say next, Phil found himself wrapped in two soft, little arms.

"And I'm sorry," Dab added, very silently.

"Don't be," Phil replied, patting his back. He wasn't used to hugging people who weren't Dan, and who were probably about half his size, but he did his best, "And you don't have to call me uncle, either. Now go play with your friend."

So Dab let go with a wide grin and hurried off out into the warm fresh air with as much childlike energy as always, leaving his childminder sat, cross-legged, on the floorboards. Phil smiled to himself, contently, and closed his eyes from the bright sunlight beaming into his face. He felt like it was a job fairly well done.

"Good job," a soft voice came from behind, and as he turned about, Phil saw the face of his best friend looking fondly down to him from the bedroom doorway, "I think you did it."

"I did," he replied, quietly yet happily unsteadily getting to his feet, using the table as a support, "I fixed something!"

"You did," Dan snickered, walking over and wrapping his friend in an envelope of the warm hoodie he was wearing.

Phil didn't really know how he 'did it', or how 'it' happened so quickly, but he was enjoying this little moment and wasn't about to ruin it by questioning it like he always did, and he certainly wasn't going to take it for granted

"I think you deserve a rest, don't you?" Dan smiled, behind his back. He'd sat silently in the bedroom after he'd heard the snap – the snap that Phil thought he didn't hear – and waited to see if Phil would see what it was, which he did. Then he'd listened to the conversation that followed, smiling to himself at the rare soft and gentle tone that his friend had used. Dan was unreasonably proud.

"I- I don't think I'm tired," Phil replied, which was unusual for him because recently he'd spent most of his time either cleaning, standing around looking distressed, or asleep.

"You're not?" Dan hummed, "Well, what do you want to do instead, then?"

Phil gave a hum of thought, tilting his head to the side – which would have been ok, only in this case he just ended up bunting Dan in the neck – and eventually breathing a long sigh into his friend's shoulder.

"I thought maybe we should finish that book," he said.