Well, any time you want to pull off a big rescue would be greatly appreciated, Will, Jack thought, nervously drumming his fingers on the large pile of logs, growing ever shorter as the dwarves tossed them into the fire, whistling while they worked. Once again, I will have to pick up the blacksmith's slack, he decided. Swaggering out in front of them, he commanded, "More wood! Big fire! You guys in the back! Those humans aren't going to become dessert or fixin's or whatever it is they're going to be. Add more wood!"

"Hi ho/hi ho/it's off to work we go," they sang, lifting an armful of logs each and throwing them onto the fire. They looked back to check for approval, but Jack was gone, racing to the other end of the village. Only the edge of a cliff stopped him in his tracks.

What to do, what to do, what to do, he recited to himself over and over again, fighting off a surge of panic creeping up on him. He hustled into one of the huts. It was loaded with rope. Gathering it up into his arms, he turned to go, when he heard a small sound like the crinkle of bows.

He turned around fast and saw a small dwarf cannibal, Little Cindy-Lou, whose last name was Hannibal.

Jack had been caught by this little dwarf daughter who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.

She stared at Jack and said, "Sexy Dwarf, why, why are you taking our rope? WHY?"

But you know, old Jack was so smart and so slick, he thought up a lie and he thought it up quick.

"Uh…my sweet little tot," the fake Sexy Dwarf lied. "This rope just happens to be unraveling on one side. So I'm taking it back to my ship, my dear. I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."

"That's from How the Grinch Stole Christmas," Cindy-Lou announced, tonguing her loose tooth at the same time.

"Oh." Jack frowned. "You're familiar with that story."

It was all the time the rest of the dwarves needed to catch up to Jack and drag him back to their bonfire, the smoke at least a hundred feet high. Hogtying him and hoisting him onto the spit, the flames crackled underneath him. Out in the theater, a fangirl fainted away.

"Ew-nay uy-gay aped-escay!" the dwarf from the bridge panted, flailing his arms at the others.

Better late than never, Will, Jack thought, blowing on the curling flames. "Oh-gay et-gay em-thay!" He watched them rush after the others, leaving him alone to roast. Holding his breath and counting to three, he launched himself away from the fire and tried to run, still tied to the pole. Groaning that he would have to go back through the huts to escape, he zigzagged around them, looking for anything that could free him from the pole. Think, Jack, think. How did you occupy your time after you had slept with that diving instructor? He gasped. The pole vault instructor! Taking a few steps back, he took a running start and flipped onto the other side of the cliff, noting what a fantastic story the feat would make.

So proud of himself, he couldn't catch his balance and fell back, sending him crashing through at least half a dozen wooden bridges. Screaming all the way, he landed onto the soft grass. Well, moderately soft. Freed from the pole, he had to find his way back to the beach.


A/N: Once again, I do not own Snow White or the Grinch and if Disney ever had a plot bunny about Jack making it with a pole vault instructor, that's news to me.