Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, just playing with 'em.

Any Way the Wind Blows

A rodeo.

The people of Dirt took to the idea like vultures to a carcass, which didn't really surprise him. That was just who they were, after all – rough and tumble folks from a place lost in time way out west. He had to admire them for that, for being able to make a living and fun out of nothing – which was the reason why he had suggested and begun organizing a roundup in the first place.

Before Dirt, there had been – well, he wasn't quite sure, but there had definitely been more than this. There had also been a little less, if he really decided to put things into perspective. Sure, before Dirt he had endless sources of entertainment, most of which were provided unwittingly by his human owners, but he had also lacked anything real. The plastic tree, the Barbie doll torso, the wind up fish – they had all been good imaginary friends, but they had still been imaginary, and one could only go so far within a fabricated society.

Now, though, everything he had was real. The love, the friendship, the respect and adoration – it was all very, very real. Unfortunately, it was also very, very boring. Yes, being involved with Beans kept him on his toes, and being in charge of Dirt kept him busy most of the time, but there was still a certain something missing in the life he was leading now. He had, after all, always prided his acting skills – those of which, save for the gaudy Southern accent, were of little to no use now.

He wasn't some nameless little lizard playing at being the hero anymore; he was Rango, and a hero was, in fact, exactly what he was. And, don't get him wrong, he loved every second of it, but it was becoming routine, predictable.

That was how the idea of the roundup had come to him. Rodeos – from what he'd been able to glimpse on television – were highly unpredictable.

It had come to him early one morning while on his rounds. He had tried his hardest to ignore it, but being the impulsive creature he was, by noon that same day his mind had been made up. Dirt would have a rodeo – and if it was successful and nobody was hurt too badly or died, hell, maybe he'd make it an annual thing.

So, he'd made the announcement and townsfolk had taken to it all too eagerly. Some part of him thought, just maybe, they were as bored as he, and that was why they had jumped at the opportunity he was giving them. A date was decided and certain folks were assigned certain tasks – like rounding up wild pygmy hogs and ground squirrels, or building a ring for the events to take place in. All in all, things were running smoothly, and all pieces were falling surprisingly neatly into place.

...but there was still one little problem.

Never let it be said that seeing and doing something was at all the same thing. A prime example being: just because he had seen rodeos on television, had seen cowboys rope and wrangle and wrestle livestock, didn't mean he could do those things. And, of course, he would have to do them – because that was just who he was now, and Dirt would expect him to get in the ring and have his go. That was just fine and all, but he couldn't even tie – nevermind throw – a lasso. But this was the life he was leading, and now this was the part he was playing, and so, he would have to learn.

Or die trying.

And, at the moment, die trying looked a whole lot more probable than actually honing any of the necessary skills. Because his nerves were shot, his hands were shaking, and he couldn't really decided which was worse: the sun's merciless heat, or Jake's merciless glare.

Okay, so, maybe seeking the rattler out had been going out very far on a very flimsy limb, but he couldn't think of any other way. If he had gone to anyone in Dirt, he would have only proven once again just how misplaced and delusional he was – that, in the end, he was still only playing a role.

He would have only reminded them that, hero or no hero, he was still a liar, and probably always would be. But that was the problem with actors, wasn't it? Eventually, they lost themselves in their own stories. Being a chameleon didn't help his plight much, either, as the instinct to camouflage, to blend in, was an exceedingly strong one. The more elements he added to his story, the stronger the urge became to actually live up to them.

But Jake was different than Dirt's people. Jake knew what he was and what he wasn't and his opinions wouldn't be swayed, so that made this uncomfortable escapade just a little easier.

"Y'want me t'do do what?" the snake asked incredulously, because obviously this was not the usual sort of business he was called out for.

The chameleon seemed to pale, one of his many camouflage responses. He lowered his head, feeling more than a little foolish for asking this kind of favor from someone like Jake. "Teach me how to, um, use a lasso?"

"What kinda stories you been tellin' now, brother?" Jake inquired as he leaned down and forward, staring intently at the smaller reptile, rather enjoying the discomfort brought on by the reminder of his most outrageous lie.

"N-none, I was just – curious?" Rango more or less asked, and didn't quite bother recovering the accent he had lost. Jake had a nasty habit of doing that, of stripping him of any and all delusions he had bestowed upon himself.

"Don't lie t'me, son," the rattler hissed warningly, rearing up again and looming over the sheriff. "You know how Ah feel 'bout liars."

Rango visibly flinched, but managed to finally meet Jake's gaze again. He nodded mostly to himself, and ran a hand over the back of his neck as he sighed. The sigh was a heavy one, Jake noted, and the sort that released demons; a sure sign the younger reptile was about to come clean.

And he did – mostly. Rango didn't bother telling Jake the rodeo was his idea (though he was pretty certain the viper figured that out on his own), but he did, rather shamefully, admit to not knowing what he had really gotten himself into. "Heck," he concluded, letting out a quiet, sheepish chuckle, "I still have trouble riding those roadrunners."

Jake, however, was in no mood to share a laugh with the chameleon. The glare had faded halfway through Rango's explanation into a rather bland expression, one that told of disinterest and a serious lack of impression. He would always hold Rango in somewhat high regard for all that had taken place that fateful day, but sometimes he really had to wonder about the wayward little sheriff. Because as easily as he slipped into the role, his story was still filled with plot holes.

"Yer pathetic," Jake finally muttered, shaking his head.

"I know," Rango mumbled in agreement, but still managed to smile weakly, hopefully. "But, you'll help, right?"

Jake hadn't outright said no, so that was a good sign.

"On one condition," Jake said slowly after a moment, swinging some of his lower half around to ensnare the smaller body. "Ya bring yer voice, an' all that comes with it. Ah ain't teachin' squat t'a nobody."

Because, as things were now, Jake needed Rango as much as the chameleon did. As much as he hated to admit it, he owed Rango his life, twice, and a good deal of his respect. But sure as the fires he swore himself to come from, he wouldn't be owing anything to this identity-challenged lizard if he continued on like the pathetic fool and fake Jake had originally thought him to be.

It didn't happen often, and Jake liked to be proven wrong, liked to have a new truth thrown in his face. It made things just that much more interesting.

And it took a few long seconds of staring and random color-changing and shuddering before Rango realized all of that. He smirked up at the snake, gave a nod, and boldly – albeit clumsily – vaulted over the thick tail that had been braced threateningly against his back.

"Count on it," the sheriff said, tipping his hat and giving a wink.

"This here same place t'morrow. Same time. Don't disappoint me, brother."

The next day, after narrowly avoiding an interrogation from Beans (one of the few times her freezes came in handy), Rango had thought he was home-free. He thought that he would be able to mount his roadrunner and just hightail it out into the desert. That he would be able to leave inconspicuously and not a soul would suspect he was heading out for a private lassoing lesson with an outlaw.

Rango had been wrong. Very, very wrong.

Priscilla had a bad habit of making herself known at the most awkward of times. He would have asked what she was doing at the town's boarder, but the two had come to a mutual understanding some time ago that, sometimes, it was best if neither asked the other questions. Besides, there was always something about the mouse's stare that told Rango she was acutely aware of what was going on around her, even if everyone else was completely oblivious.

He gripped the runner's reigns tighter, shifted his shoulders beneath the coil of rope slung around them, and cleared his throat as he stared down at the young rodent. He opened his mouth to speak, but Priscilla cut him off before he could even get a syllable out.

"Have a good ride, sheriff," she said. A simple statement, one that couldn't really be taken any other way. But that didn't mean it didn't put him on edge, because the girl always seemed to know more than she let on.

He, however, couldn't falter, even if her unblinking, wide-eyed stare made him very nervous. He cleared his throat again, louder than before and gave the girl a nod, tipping his hat to her.

"Will do, little sister. You, uh, keep an eye on things 'round here while Ah'm gone," he told her, slapping a confident-as-could-be smirk on quickly.

"What do Ah tell Miss Beans when she comes to?" the cactus mouse asked, to which Rango could only give an airy, half-hearted chuckle.

"Tell 'er Ah'll be back before nightfall."

"Yessir," Priscilla said, giving the chameleon a small nod of her own, then turning on her heel and heading back into the heart of town. Once she was out of earshot, Rango let out a heavy sigh, letting his stiff posture give way to nothing short of a boneless slouch against his runner.

He took a few long seconds to collect himself, and for one brief moment it crossed his mind that he shouldn't have been so nervous. It wasn't as though what he was setting out to do with Jake was some sort of crime. Just a lasso lesson, nothing more or less. Given, it was the fact he couldn't rope a boulder to save his life that he was trying to keep away from the townspeople, but for some reason, it suddenly felt like there was more to it than that. He was gradually becoming aware that his thinning nerves had a lot less to do with his charades and a lot more to do with sneaking out of town to meet with Jake. Which was just silly, if he really thought about it, because Dirt and Jake were on relatively good terms now, and even if the snake was feared, it wasn't as though he was entirely unwelcome anymore.

A irritated, impatient chirp from his mount snapped him out of his reverie. He furrowed his brow and shook his head to clear his mind completely before saddling up and taking off.

"Now," Jake said, a borderline hiss as he approached the chameleon, gunmetal rolling menacingly in his wake, "Ah woul'n't reckon ya got a good reason for leavin' me waitin', would ya, sheriff?"

Clumsily dismounting his runner, Rango let out a weak, half-hearted and blatantly nervous chuckle. He was a shade paler when he turned around to face the rattler, whom was now towering over him at a height Rango had only seen him rear up to before striking. He was speechless for a few long seconds as he stared up at Jake, all reason and sense barely held onto as he tried desperately to convince himself he wasn't in harm's way.

But, oh, if looks alone could kill.

Caught up in staring at the outlaw, the sheriff hadn't even realized Jake's tail found its way around and behind him, until the heavy, makeshift rattle lightly thunked against his head. Effectively, it brought him back to reality, and all color returned as he cleared his throat, adjusted his hat and attempted to put a comfortable distance between himself and Jake again.

"Well, ya know how it is," he started, adjusting his vest and shifting the coil of rope around his shoulders.

"Think twice before ya spin a yarn," Jake warned, to which Rango responded to by letting his posture fail and giving his best impression of a fish trying to breathe out of water.

The chameleon slowly lowered his gaze, and then his head all together. "...these runners," he started slowly, "they don't know left from right an' all, y'see. So, Ah might've wound up a lil turned 'round back there."

Of course, the birds were only as good as their riders, and if his patience weren't already worn thin, Jake may have informed the lizard of this. But, as things were, he wasn't particularly in the mood to engage in anything more with Rango than what was absolutely necessary.

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, the snake finally leaned back and lowered himself to a more reasonable level. "Let's move this along," he muttered, dismissing Rango's tardiness and his pathetic excuses all together. He nodded toward the smaller reptile, eying the rope meaningfully. "Gimme that there rope."

Rango didn't hesitate (much to Jake's relief), and quickly pulled the rope away from himself, unraveling a good portion of it. He held it out in front of him, at his arms' full length, though his head was slowly canting to the side.

Suddenly, he realized, something was very wrong with this idea.

"How are you going to...?" he started, but couldn't finish, because Jake was leaning in with his jaws open and fangs extended. Quickly, but with practiced and perfected precision, he hooked one fang behind the rope, pulling it away from the tiny lawman.

What happened next was as captivating as it was frightening. Rango watched, wide-eyed and unblinking as Jake used his tongue, teeth, and tail to make the appropriate knot. By the time Jake was finished, and the lasso was slung over his six shooters, Rango was forcing himself to look down at the sand beneath his boots. There had been something about the way that black tongue tangled with the thick cord, wrapping it around a fang if needed, looping it over the first barrel on his tail. Something unnerving, something that made his heart beat just a fraction faster and that didn't feel quite like fear.

"That's how," Jake said, gaining all of Rango's attention again, smirking crookedly at the obviously intrigued lizard. He didn't waste a second, flinging the rope toward the chameleon, whom fumbled some, but managed to catch it.

"Now – learn by doin', brother," Jake drawled, not bothering to hide his amusement as Rango took a better hold of the rope, one hand just below the knot and the loop caught in its same grasp.

Rango looked from the rope in his hands to the snake in front of him, and then to a patch of sand that lay between the two. He cleared his mind, tried to recall the various rodeo-like things he had ever seen or heard of. This was just a small tweak of character, something easy to do compared to coming up with this whole persona on the spot the way he had.

However, much like the way Jake had called him out, saying and doing something were two painfully different things. Even if he thought he could throw a lasso, even if he convinced himself of it, the fact of the matter was: could he, really? The chances were, if he was being honest with himself, slim to none. But he had to try, at the very least.

His grip on the rope tightened some, and he forced all doubt from his mind. One thing he had learned early on was that doubt never played in anybody's favor, and he, most definitely, was no exception to that rule.

I can do this, he told himself, just once, and slowly brought his gaze up to meet Jake's once again. The snake was staring at him, staring him down the way he had the evening they met, daring him to falter. There was something in those fiery eyes that made Rango want to overcome, to prove there was more to him than what a person simply saw.

And there his heart went, beating that little bit faster again, fueled by something that wasn't fear but made him just as anxious. Something he was slowly getting a grasp on, and something he was shocked and ashamed and amused all at once to feel.

"If ya don't get yer head outta the clouds, boy, Ah'm gonna wrap that rope so tight 'round yer skinny, lil neck – " Jake's near-snarl disrupted Rango's thought process, and the glassiness that had come over his eyes left them quickly.

"Sorry," he apologized, stiffening up and taking a few, cautious steps backward, putting what he assumed was the appropriate amount of space between them.

Glancing once more between rope and snake, he took a deep, calming breath and a stance he had seen many a cowboy take on TV. From there, he proceeded to further mimic the professionals, swinging his wrist in a slow, fluid motion, gradually building speed and momentum. He rose his arm up above his head, making wide circles with every twist of his wrist, and simply waited until he felt a pull at the appropriate time.

Once more, he let the rope circle, and when he felt that natural tug again, he finally released it, eyes wide as he follow its aerial pathway. He didn't think twice, even as the rope found its way around Jake's head, coming to rest somewhat low against his throat, and gave the tug he figured he needed, securing the line.

Jake's gaze lowered down to the rope around him, and he smirked crookedly to himself, able to feel the little sheriff's inner tremors reverberating through the cord. When he looked up again, toward Rango, the chameleon's hold suddenly loosened and the rope fell away from him entirely. He cleared his throat and tired his best not to fuss in place.

"W-well, would ya lookit that?" he chuckled nervously, "how in tarnation did that happen?"

"Indeed," Jake mused lowly, still smirking that crooked smirk as he eyed the small reptile. "Who'da thought you had it in ya?"

"That weren't nothin'," Rango said quickly, "jus' beginner's luck, Ah'll bet."

Jake shook his head and used his six shooters to loosen the rope, then lift it over his head and toss it back to Rango.

"That's jus' how ya are," the snake said after Rango had caught the lasso.

"What?" the chameleon asked, playing the dusty rope over in his hold idly.

"You're a natural, brother."

"But – Ah – I'm not," Rango said, shedding the accent once more, and this time meaning to. He furrowed his brow as he stared up at the outlaw, not at all understanding what he meant. "You know I'm as far from a natural at this – and everything else I do – as they come."

"So you keep sayin', and so I thought. An' yet, you keep pullin' it all off," Jake reminded him. "Just 'cause you ain't from 'round these parts, don't mean ya don't belong. Remember that."

"But – what?"

"Who are you?"

The question caught him off guard, but the slow smile that broke out onto his face was inevitable.

Every story had its twists, and every plot had its holes, but they were nothing a determined mind couldn't overcome. As his story played out, there would no doubt be new things he would learn along the way, about this world and about himself, but, he supposed, that was half the fun.

"Rango."

Jake nodded in approval.