a/n: hello to all of my...two readers! Yeah! This is freakin' awesome. This is my first time on It's cool to be here. Ok, we have some stuff to clear up. Let's see.

From "urbuddythat'snottherenow"-- this fic is told from the POV of Pim; something I don't really see around here. This fic is not supposed to be focused on Pheely. There's too much of that here, and I want this to be something new and thought-provoking, not just some teen's fantasy of romance. I don't mean that in a bad way.

From "mchs-angel08," hopefully somethings will be cleared up in this chapter and in future ones. Remember, this future is an oppressive time, but the people don't realize it. This future is based on stuff that I've read in "Farinheight 451," a splash of "1984," and three cups of my own screwed imagination. Any more questions? No? Ok, let's get to the disclaimer.

disclaimer: I don't own "Phil of the Future." I'm not even sure who completely owns it...disney? I don't know. I'm POOR! No suiing me.

TO: you, the reader

FROM: Isis

SUBJECT: Returning to the Butterfly

CHAPTER ONE

Coming home from the past (circa 2004/2005) was much smoother than going and crash landing. It was also much quieter. My father stared out of the front window. He had a blank look on his face. He knew what was coming, although I at the time figured it was stress. We had been on almost a year vacation. We planned to come back to 2121 exactly a week after we had left.

My brother was asleep on the couch with old DVDs blaring in the background. My mother kept watching the time meter. We were almost home. 2099, 2100, twenty more minutes to go. I sat down and watched streams of blue and red lights blur by the window. I was really going to miss the old-fashioned type schools. The ones where teachers actually taught you not automated holograms. Real teachers were more fun; you could really mess with their minds.

Peace. That was going to be something new. Every time I turned on the TV in 2004, I always heard something about Iraq or the Tsunami, or people dying all the time from crazy people, or being raped or kidnapped. Those kinds of things just didn't happen in our time. It was probably due to the fact that hardly any one went outside. It was nice to be in the white bubble of oblivion.

Color. I was really going to miss color and clothes. In our time, we had a standardized uniform: a blue jumpsuit with our last name over the right breast pocket. Inside homes were white. Outside they were chrome and disgusting. Our world was white and chrome. Boring. Vanilla. Most of our food came out of a spray can.

2110, ten more minutes. I couldn't wait to see my real best friends, Becky and Nicole. Unfortunately, annoying Debra Burwick had started to grow on me. I was going to miss her, and her naivety. The TimeRV jolted to a stop. The wormhole ride was over. We were at home. Phil woke up slowly. He looked even more depressed than Dad did. He combed his hair with his fingers. A familiar buzz of excitement flowed through me.

We were finally home.

Our house/condo/penthouse (pick whichever you like) was on the third floor of a twenty-foot chrome building. I grabbed my bags from the RV, and raced back to my room. It was just as I had left it a year…a week ago. It was white. My bed was in the corner; my desk was adorned with my silver laptop. My carpet was unseen under a mess of papers, gadgets and CD-ROMS. I collapsed into my bed. My bed. I smiled and took a whiff of the familiar sent. I was finally home. I could cause trouble with no fear. I could do what I wanted. I could…because I was home.

I heard Phil go into his room as well. He slammed the door shut and put on some loud rock music. I wondered what was wrong with him. Mom's shoes clicked on the linoleum floor. She opened his door and screamed at Phil.

"What's the matter with you? You know about the Music Code. Do you want to go to jail?" There was no response. There was nothing. It hardly sounded like Phil was alive. I wanted to find out what was going on. I rolled over and looked under my bed for a InvisiPen—a space pen look alike that contained a spray which made your atoms spread out temporarily, thus making you invisible. It was an old invention; developed for the military during some war against some country. I applied the spray, and felt it do its stuff.

The screaming continued and got louder as I entered the room.

"You should be happy that we're back! You and Pim were complaining half the trip! And now you're moping around the house like you have a deadly disease. What's wrong, Philip?" Phil continued to look at the ceiling. He looked like he was about to cry. I almost felt sorry for him.

"I don't want to talk about it." Mom leaned against the door framing.

"Oh. You don't want to talk about it." She nodded and scoffed. She was really mad. I could almost see smoke coming out of her ears. Phil sat up and looked dead on at Mom.

"No Mom. I don't."

"See, that's where you're wrong, Philip. You are going to tell me what's going on. Do you understand?"

"Mom, that's not fair!"

"Don't discuss fair and unfair with me. No matter what century we're in, you are my son, and I am you're mother. You are going to tell me what is going on in your mind."

"No."

"Fine. Then you can tell your father." Mom left the room. Phil fell back in his bed and continued to stare at the ceiling. I floated back to my bedroom as I felt the spray wear off. One time I had put the spray on, and ended up all disfigured because I didn't read the instructions. "Do not spray upside down. Stay indoors." This time, my cells shifted comfortably back to their rightful position.

"Phil, what's this your mother is telling me?" Dad asked in a stern voice.

"It's nothing, Dad." I didn't have to use my InvisiPen. They were loud enough.

"Yes it is! We're not going to have you moping around the house. Now, you pick up your lip and move on with life. It was a vacation Phil. Did you, did you really think we were going to stay there forever? Silence. I wondered that myself. We had stayed for so long that it seemed only natural to think we were going to stay there. "Phil. You know you can talk to us about anything. Whatever you're going through, we've been through."

"I'm fine."

"Good. Then you can help unload the RV." Phil groaned as he got up. I had already unloaded everything that was mine. While Mom, Dad, and Phil were outside; I filed through what I had.

I had to give up all of my clothes to Goodwill before we left because of the Uniform. I couldn't have them. So, everything in my duffle bag was my gadgets. I did however have a photo album. I pulled that out and started reminiscing. I made a promise that once I was older, I would travel back to 2004 and see these people again.

I heard a muffled scream. It was from a fifteen-year-old brat by the name of Philip Diffy. I walked out and saw him hunched over a metal crate cradling his hand.

"What happened to you?" I asked apathetically.

"I cut my hand."

"That caused you to fall over and start crying like a little girl?" I leaned on the couch. Phil's eyes were red and puffy. His nose was red too. His eyes stared at me with such malice and cruelty; I almost doubled back. I think it was his pride that was hurt the most. I looked at the cut hand. It was a pretty big gash across his palm. I flipped on my caring sister mode. "Are you ok?" I asked him.

"No."

"Why not?"

"My hand is burning with pain." I rolled my eyes.

"Well, you know what to do!" He looked at me blankly. "Go into the kitchen, wash it off. There are some liquid bandages in the cabinet above the sink. Go!" Phil moved slowly into the kitchen, whimpering over his hand. I followed. He had probably forgotten how to apply a liquid bandage.

Apparently not. Less than 20 minutes later, he was sitting on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Mom and Dad had gone back to the TimeRV rental place. They were filing a complaint about RV breaking down. It was going to be awhile before they came back. Phil was listening to a cheesy song that I vaguely remembered from 2004. It was a…a, dare I say it, love song! I wanted to throw up from my spot in the living room.

I walked to Phil's room and knocked on the door. No response. Silly little boy. I typed in the backup code on the wall panel next to me. The door hissed open. Phil was lying on his side staring at the radio he took from 04. Big fat tears fell from his eyes in a pathetic manner. I would cry too; those lyrics were so cheesy.

"Phil?" I tried. No movement. No recognition that I was in the room. "Hello?" He didn't move. Was he so sick for '04 that his mind had gone completely blank? I walked in some more. "Ph-i-l," I said. He didn't respond. I became quickly agitated. This wasn't fun anymore. I walked to his stereo and turned the music off. I pulled up a chair behind me and sat. We just stared at each other for what seemed like the longest time. We didn't blink for over an hour. Call the Guinness's Book of World Records.

"Phil. What the hell is wrong with you?" He pulled his pillow up to his face and cradled it like a teddy bear. The last time I had seen him like this was when I was 9 and he was 12. His best friend had moved away. Phil wouldn't talk or eat for days. We began to worry. "Do I need to call Dr. Shriek?" Dr. Shrikowski was a Polish woman who liked to yell and scream a lot. She was Phil's psychologist during the "best friend moved" period.

"No," he managed. He sniffled, and rubbed his nose with his sleeve. "I want to go back."

"Sorry, can't do that. It's against the law to travel back to the same time twice by the same family. You know that."

"I know. But…I just want to see her again." Oh Lord. He was lovesick. It was probably some stupid girl who didn't know how to add and wore as little bit of clothing as humanly possible.

"Ok. Just out of plain curiosity, who is the unlucky girl?" It took a while for him to response. Phil just kept sniffling and holding his pillow.

"If you don't tell me now, I can find out later," I said. I had ways. A number one of my gadgets had extra features to read brain waves and translate them into English. It was new though, so I didn't know if it worked. It was a gift from 2065; Mom got it for me. It was some military thing gone wrong. I've never asked how she got it, however.

"It's Keely," Phil said simply. I almost fell off of my chair. Keely. Keely the blonde idiot? Oh God. "I miss her so much." I held up my hand to stop him.

"I don't want to hear it, Lover Boy. That's the last thing that I want to hear today."

"But—" Phil begins to say.

"Just because you're my brother doesn't mean that I have to listen to you." I pause. "I'm going to leave you with your little stereo and cheesy song." I turn on my heel and leave the room. This was only the beginning of my problems.

a/n: REVIEW my minions, REVIEW:) What did you think? Sorry it's so long!