Summary: Handsome suitor Sam seeks the hand of arrogant Prince Dean, but he must first find a magical tree in the realm of a certain wicked little demon. AU Sam/Dean unrelated slash. Homage to 'The Singing Ringing Tree'.

A/N: This is my Christmas gift to FF. It's an affectionate parody of 'The Singing Ringing Tree' or 'Das Singende Klingende Bäumchen'. If you don't know this fable you should check it out. It's a magical and adorably clunky East German TV film from 1957 shown in the UK in the 70's. It's beloved of many, including my dear mother. So for her...

If you're curious, the original movie is available on Youtube in 5 parts. Search for 'Das singende klingende bäumchen 1957'. This is in German but there's a complete walk-through for the story starting at: www (period) thechestnut (period) com (slash) srtree (slash) srtree1 (period) htm

Warnings: This is a children's fairy tale, but I have used some mild language.


The Flipping Tripping Tree (Part 1 of 3: Handsome Suitor) by frostygossamer


Sam had been driving all night. He had just completed a little poltergeist exorcism in West Virginia that had taken him one whole day too many, and was ready for some time out. He was just entering the outskirts of the town of Singerburg, PA and he wearily scanned for a motel, where he could rest his tired bones for the night.

"Damn," he muttered to himself. "Looks like some kinda carnival's in town."

That was all he needed. Up ahead flags and banners hung down over the highway inviting visitors to take part in some kind of civic celebration.

One banner proclaimed:


SINGERBURG ENGAGEMENT CHALLENGE

Come on girls!

Have you got the chutzpah

to win the hand of the

Prince of Singerburg?


Sam felt a little curious. What the hell was this? A Prince in 21st Century Pennsylvania?

The young hunter pulled into the next motel he saw with vacancies, parked outside and wandered into the office to get himself a room. The clerk at the desk was a perky brunette who glanced up at him from her open magazine and grinned.

"You wanna room?" she asked. "King-size?" she added, eyeing up his generous proportions.

"Sure," he replied. "What's the fiesta?"

The girl giggled and pointed over her shoulder to a poster on the wall behind her. It bore the photo of a strikingly good-looking young man with a cartoon crown badly shopped over his head.

"It's our little ol' king," she chuckled. "Seems he's decided to marry off his boy, Prince Dean there. So he's issued an all comers challenge to find him a wife."

"King?" Sam asked incredulously. "This is the USA, honey. What's with the royalty crap?"

"Oh, it's just that the guy who founded Singerburg, back in the day, he claimed to be some kinda lost heir to some little piss-ant kingdom in the 'old country'," she explained.

The girl smirked and fluttered her eyes at Sam.

"The current claimant's a guy called Bobby Singer. Calls himself King Bobby. And his boy Dean is his heir, his Prince. They got piles of money so they can call themselves whatever the hell they want, right?"

"And this King Bobby is trying to find his son a wife with some goddamn contest?" Sam queried, hardly able to believe such things still went on.

"Yeah," the girl continued, blowing a gum bubble. "Seems like ol' Prince Dean's not so keen on finding himself a wife. He sure loves to party, but he says he likes his freedom."

"You know him, huh?"

"Sure. Everybody knows him. Personally, you know what I think?" and she leaned toward Sam conspiratorially. "I think he's gay."

Sam pretended to be shocked, and he surreptitiously studied the poster some more. That guy Prince Dean sure had a pretty pout on him.

That night Sam lay in bed and thought about 'King' Bobby and his old-world challenge. He thought about what the chick had said, and he thought about 'Prince' Dean's pretty face. He would have sure liked to meet that guy. If Sam had been a chick with chutzpah then maybe...

§

The next morning, Sam rose early feeling hungry. He was just polishing off a well-earned breakfast special, when who should walk in the joint but King Bobby himself.

"Hi there, King Bobby," the owner greeted the older guy cheerfully. "Come for your usual?"

The middle-aged, bearded guy nodded friendly-like, sat himself down in a booth near by Sam's and got himself comfortable. The owner was there in five with his substantial breakfast.

"How's things going with the challenge, King Bobby?" the owner asked, anxiously.

"Not so good," King Bobby grumbled. "The kid's turned down every gal that's shown an interest so far. Looks like I'm gonna be stuck with that boy for good. And that kid's high maintenance. With them there good looks, y'd think he coulda found himself some rich bitch to sponge off of other that his poor ol' dad."

The owner grinned knowingly. "Kids!" he agreed and scurried away.

Sam had been listening to all this and, after a minute, he got up and wandered over to King Bobby's table.

"Hi," he said. "Sam Winchester," and he extended a hand to the old guy.

"Hi," the guy replied, shaking his hand firmly. "Bobby Singer. Folks here call me King Bobby."

"So I been told," Sam responded. "And I think I might have a proposition for you."

"Oh yeah?" King Bobby asked suspiciously. "Why don't ya take a seat and we can talk it over, whatever it is?"

Sam slid into the king's booth, relaxing across from him.

"I'd like to take up your challenge," he stated deadpan.

The old guy raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, as he sipped his coffee.

"I'd like to try and win the hand of your son and heir, Prince Dean," Sam elucidated.

King Bobby choked on his java.

"YOU?" he spluttered. "You wanna marry my boy Dean? B-but you're a goddamn guy!"

"And?" Sam queried defiantly. "It's legal in New York. You want him off of your hands or what?"

King Bobby considered, removing his cap to scratch his head and then replacing it decisively.

"OK but you'd better ask him, I guess." He glanced at his watch. "He oughta be here in a few minutes."

At that very moment, the street door slammed back on its hinges, and a handsome young guy strode arrogantly into the diner. He was wearing a white suit and a jewelry-storeful of bling. Sam recognized him immediately, from the poster he had seen the previous night at the motel. Prince Dean Singer.

"Guess this is his Highness right now," Sam remarked.

The new arrival marched over to his father's booth and stood there glaring down at this unexpected guest in his casual plaid shirt and old jeans.

"And so who's the day labourer?" he demanded of his father haughtily.

"Take a seat, Dean," King Bobby insisted calmly, scooching along to make room. "This here's a guy with an unusual proposal for us."

When his son had taken the weight off, he continued. "He wants to take up my little engagement challenge."

Dean's green eyes widened comically, but then the look of shock was quickly replaced with one of sheer contempt.

"The hell," he retorted succinctly.

King Bobby shrugged. "Told him he had to ask you, son," he explained. "Wanna accept this 'un? Or you gonna turn it down like all the others?"

Dean didn't look any too happy with the notion.

"Seem to recall, when you came up with this bullcrap idea, that we were talking women, girls, females of some goddamn kind," Dean fumed. "Jeez, Dad, thought we were looking for some chick with heart and a heavy purse. Since when did you come up with renting me out to your work hands, exactly?"

Sam could see that this attitude didn't sit well with King Bobby.

"Son, let me put you wise. Your allowance is on the line here," he complained. "You swore to me you'd go along with this thing, boy."

Dean bit his lip and reconsidered. Maybe he'd better pretend to go along with this. Otherwise he might be finding his pocket-money account frozen. All he had to do was give this nut job a challenge that was totally impossible to fulfil.

"OK," he agreed, after a little thought. "I'll go along with this crap."

Turning to Sam, he told him in no uncertain terms. "Any sonovabitch with a little hard cash can buy me some goddamn gift. Bling I don't need. Gonna need way more than that. Deserve way more than that."

He paused dramatically, "Here's my challenge: I want you to bring me the freakin' Flipping Tripping Tree."

King Bobby drew in a startled breath. Sam was mystified.

"So what's that?" the young hunter demanded. "What the hell is the Flipping freakin' Tripping Tree? You wanna tell me?"

King Bobby sighed and blew his nose on his napkin.

"The Flipping Tripping Tree is a kinda magic doohickey we got round these parts," he explained. "Supposed to be one powerful force for good, plus it can detect true love. But no one knows where the hell it is. Afraid it's an impossible task, Sam."

But Sam Winchester wasn't so easily deterred.

"I accept the challenge," he declared, rising from the table. "I'll find you your goddamn Flipping Tripping Tree, Dean. Don't you worry about that."

He shook King Bobby's hand firmly. "You got yourself a contract," he confirmed.

Then he held his hand out for Dean to shake. When King Bobby shot his boy a nasty glare, Dean reluctantly took the hand.

"Believe me, Dean," Sam said quietly. "If ANYONE can bring you what you really need, Sam Winchester is that guy."

He gave them both a big, sunny smile and walked out the diner.

Father and son stared at each other speechless.

§

Sam went straight back to his motel room and dove into the internet, seeking out any and everything he could find about this Flipping Tripping Tree the Singers had spoken of. He didn't find much. Apparently it was one actual, real, live, magic tree, or maybe a bush, and there had been unverified reports of it growing in the area over a good many years.

Fable had it that it could be heard flipping and tripping whenever someone in its near vicinity thought about their one true and requited love. He could see why anyone looking to choose the right someone to marry might find that very useful.

The tree's natural habitat seemed to be in places like spooky forests, magical orchards, sequestered valleys and hidden caves. Sam found himself a topographic map of the area and made a shortlist of possible sites.

That night he fell asleep to dream of the stunningly handsome, if stuck-up, stud muffin he had met for the first time today, and was already a little in love with.

§

Soon after dawn the next day, Sam was already in his Impala, checking out the various places he had pencilled in on his map. So far he was drawing a blank, even after extensive inquiries around each neighbourhood. This routine went on for an entire week. Finally, there was one last site he hadn't yet taken a look at, the Hidden Cavern picnic spot, abandoned for years.

He parked the Impala beside the little bridge that had led visitors over a deep, dry moat and straight through a high security wall into the cavern. He didn't notice someone who was lurking in the bushes beside the entrance when he arrived. But that someone definitely noticed him.

Sam had to strong-arm his way through the boarded-up and spider web strewn entrance to get inside, but once inside he was dazzled by the view that met his eyes.

"This place is goddamn mind-blowing," he murmured to himself in awe.

Inside the cavern, the light was clear and bright as a fine summer's day. There was a beautiful lake of serene blue water fed by a charming, tinkling waterfall. The whole place looked like it had been shot in Technicolor. It was like a movie set for some sort of Disney fairy tale, one of the very old and faintly creepy ones.

Sam was so entranced that he jumped when he heard a voice behind him. Spinning around quickly, his hand going automatically to the grip of his pistol, Sam found himself face to face with a short, dark, dapper individual in an immaculate black suit, crisp white shirt and black tie.

"What are you looking for?" the guy had asked.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded, feeling a little rattled.

The guy smiled like a cat. "The name's Crowley," he said. "And this is my, er, kingdom."

He waved his arm to encompass the entire view.

"And YOU, my friend, are my prisoner!"

Sam wasn't fazed by his statement. This was a short guy and Sam was armed.

"Oh sure," he said. "But maybe you can help me? I'm looking for the Flipping Tripping Tree. It's supposed to grow someplace around here."

"Really?" Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. "And if I could help you find it, what would you want to do with it?"

Sam wondered whether he really needed to share with this weird stranger. But, hey, what the hell, if he could help?

"Dude, I need the tree to win the love of this smokin' hot guy I just met," he explained.

Crowley snickered. "Fine, then maybe I can let you have the tree," he said and, bending down, he plucked a tiny weed out of the dirt.

He waved a casual hand over it, and it grew until it was almost as tall as he was.

"There you are. You do know the skinny on this thing, hmm? Only trips for true love?"

Sam took the unassuming looking tree from his hand, totally relieved that he had finally gotten the damn thing after searching all goddamn week. Feeling grateful, Sam decided he ought to offer Crowley something for his trouble.

"Whaddya want for it?" he asked. "Any damn thing you want, man," he added, rashly.

Crowley's smiling eyes took on a sinister glint.

"Here's my deal. You take this tree back to your, um, sweetheart, and if it flips by sundown it's yours. If it doesn't, then you come right back here and, er, be my prisoner."

But Sam wasn't taking too much notice of what the guy was saying. He was just looking at his prize, grinning like a fool, picturing how Dean was going to be totally knocked off his feet when he turned up with the stupid tree.

"No problem, man," he replied, gleefully. "The guy's gonna be all over me when he sees this thing."

"Indeed," Crowley agreed. "Who wouldn't go for a guy with such an impressive piece of wood?"

"Dude, if not I'll be a sasquatch for real," Sam joshed, then he shook Crowley's proffered hand firmly.

"Until sunset," Crowley reminded him, but Sam just laughed, hurried on out to the Impala and set off for the Singer house.

Crowley chortled to himself. "Easiest deal I ever made."

TBC


A/N: Stupid Sam, blinded by love, has got himself into a deal without even noticing. This can't end well. Or can it?