Disclaimer: I do not own anything that has to do with Finding Neverland, Peter Pan, or Johnny Depp, even though he is indeed incredibly wonderful.

Summary: One-shot. James helps to push Peter in the right direction while Peter struggles with finding his own Neverland.

Bearable Imperfections

The air was filled with silence as JM Barrie and young Peter Llewelyn-Davies sat on an unsteady wooden park bench on a particularly cool autumn day. The only sounds the pair could even comprehend were the rustling of the leaves as the wind blew and the scratching of their pens as they each wrote in their journals.

"Uncle Jim?" Peter asked suddenly. James slowly stopped writing to escape from his magical world he was creating and looked up at the young boy.

"What is it, Peter?" He replied in his very prominent Scottish accent. While Peter gathered his thoughts James looked out at the scenery lying before him. He saw his newly adopted children, 3 boys, laughing loudly while playing in the park with Porthos. They danced happily as if the loss of both their mother and father hadn't hindered them in the slightest amount. It had, and James was aware of this, but seeing them happy again, if only for a moment, made his unhappiness slightly ease away. They escaped to their Neverland, if only for a moment.

"I," his fourth adopted son, Peter, began to rant, "don't see the reasoning behind keeping a journal. This isn't going to help me to become a playwright with success such as yours. My stories aren't good enough for a book. They're just... stories."

"Well Peter, you may not realize it, but my main purpose for writing isn't to be an enormous success. I was very underrated until I was finally inspired to write Peter Pan. I have... my own reasons why I write on an everyday basis. " James paused, thinking. How do you tell another person how to create Neverland? "Why do you tell your journal your stories, Peter?"

"You know this already, Uncle Jim." Peter sighed and tossed his journal aside. "Mother wished for me to continue writing. She said so herself, when she pieced my broken journal back together a few weeks before she passed."

"Ah," James studied Peter's expressions. "But that's not the entire story, my dear boy."


"No 'buts'. Humor me for a moment. Do you see that tall maple tree by the pond?"

Peter replied, "Yes, but what's that got to do with..."

James cut him off, "Everything Peter. Writing, stories, and everything you make up is completely fictional. THAT maple tree has the ability to become the most beautiful shade of turquoise. It has the ability to become the ugliest shade of gray. It can dance, and sing, and eat broccoli if I wish for it to. It's called imagination, Peter, and it is the most exciting thing to ever have a grip on. With it, you can do anything. The world is anything you want it to be. Nothing can go wrong. Everything is... perfect. Everything."

James stood slowly, gesturing to the other boys it was time to leave. As everyone began to walk back to the park bench Peter turned to James and said, "But everything isn't perfect. It's hard to create a perfect world... a perfect story... when you're living in a place with such imperfection."

As if to prove a point the wind howled and slammed the park gates closed. That obviously signaled no escape, Peter thought sarcastically.

"Imagination, my boy," James said, heaving open the park gate, "is what makes this world, without those that you love standing beside you, bearable. Imagination helps to give us an escape from this imperfect world we live in. Imagination is what lead me to the creation of Neverland."

Peter smiled as realization came upon him as he walked out of the park. He realized, and turned back to glance at the gates, the people, and the obnoxious squeaky park bench one last time for the day. The world may possibly become a better place to stay for one Peter Llewelyn-Davies.

That is… incredible, he thought. This world's imperfection leads to another world's perfection. I have the ability to create my own perfection. My Neverland.

"This journal is looking better and better by the minute." Peter chimed in happily as they headed for home.

A/N: First posted fic ever. Hehe. So, as always, reviews are appreciated, good and bad. Although good is undeniably MORE appreciated.

And yes, it's meant to be short. Conversations don't generally take 40,000 words. Maybe next time. :)

Yours truly,
Adrian Riddle