Title : In The Beginning

Author : Helen C.

Rating : PG, I guess.

Summary : Ryan runs into some trouble, as he tends to do in fanfic (happy people have no stories, right?)

Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN : Written for finlee, who wanted, "Ryan helps an old lady - who turns out to be the most feared woman in Newport Beach (but is actually very nice-she just likes people to be uncomfortable around her)."

Many thanks to Joey51 for beta'ing this.

Chapter Three

Mrs. Thyls entered the room as if she owned it (which, considering that this was Newport, was a distinct possibility) and took a seat next to the bed, holding her purse on her lap.

Ryan felt nervous all of a sudden—sure, he knew she was the woman he had helped last night. Kirsten had explained it to him, and his sluggish brain had finally connected the dots and understood her presence at the scene.

Up until now, however, Ryan had done a good job ignoring the larger repercussions.

Too bad he couldn't go on that way, but she was here now and he had no idea what she wanted with him.

Mrs. Thyls spent a moment staring at Ryan, who tried not to squirm under her scrutiny.

He hated it when people stared at him, and being stuck in a bed, wearing only a hospital gown and nothing else, only made the situation worse.

He wished Kirsten had grabbed some of his clothes when she had rushed to the hospital last night.

There was just no way to feel comfortable when being pretty much naked under the covers and being stared at by doctors, nurses, and the most feared woman this side of the USA.

God, he hoped Kirsten would come back soon.

With clothes.

And while he was at it, he also dearly hoped that a nurse would soon come in with a painkiller of some kind, and that Mrs. Thyls would either say something or look elsewhere.

"Well?" Mrs. Thyls said, as if in answer to Ryan's prayers.

Unfortunately, that didn't help at all.

"Well what?" he asked. "Ma'am," he added for good measure.

"Mrs. Thyls," the woman informed him. "I don't think we have ever been formally introduced. And don't try to change the subject, young man."

"It's Ryan," Ryan replied, his tone probably less polite than it should have been.

Damn it, but he hated it when people called him "young man."

Mrs. Thyls looked down before Ryan could see how she was taking it, and he felt his headache get a little fiercer.

Shit.

Clearly, the concussion and the painkillers were playing havoc with his good sense—assuming he still possessed a good sense, which seemed increasingly unlikely.

Because he was talking back.

To the scary lady.

Whom pretty much everyone had warned him about—even Kirsten seemed cowed at the mere mention of her name, and Kirsten seemed pretty fearless, from what Ryan had seen so far.

When Mrs. Thyls looked up, Ryan forced himself to look calm and collected.

He was not intimidated, he told himself.

He had met scarier people than Mrs. Thyls, and he had handled them, and he was not going to be turned into a blushing, stammering teenager by that woman.

He didn't care about what she thought about him.

He was not intimidated.

And if the pain in his head didn't diminish soon, something bad was going to happen.

"Ryan, then," Mrs. Thyls said. "How do you feel?"

Great, Ryan thought sarcastically. It just feels like my head's going to explode soon, and while I'm sure it would be interesting, it's not something I particularly want to experience just yet.

Saying all that would have required a lot more energy that he currently had, though, so he just replied, "Fine." Monosyllabic words were the way to go here. "I feel fine."

She looked skeptical. "Do you?"

Ryan started to nod, and immediately regretted it, as a wave of pain started to build at the back of his skull and slowly propagated to the rest of his head. For a while, Ryan saw stars—the show was beautiful, but he would have enjoyed it more without the accompanying pain.

Ryan heard voices and felt himself being lifted up into a sitting position as his stomach revolted, the retching making his headache even worse, and the pain making his nausea worse.

Eventually, Ryan managed to stop puking long enough to whisper an apology to whoever was with him right now—hopefully it was a nurse, because if he had just thrown up in front of Mrs. Thyls, he might just die of embarrassment.

Which would at least put him out of his misery.

"It's okay," he heard.

He blinked and a nurse came into focus. She smiled at him gently. "Do you think you can swallow a pill or—"

At the mere thought of swallowing anything, Ryan felt his stomach protest again.

The nurse chuckled sympathetically as he grimaced, closed his eyes and counted to ten in the hope that focusing on something else would make him feel less miserable. "Ok, then, shot it is," she said.

Ryan lacked the energy to protest, so he just allowed her to roll him over to his side. He knew what was coming, he knew that he should have felt mortified at this point, and he probably would be later, when he thought back about this. In the meantime, though, he was in too much pain to care where the painkiller came from, as long as it kicked in quickly.

He felt a sharp, quick sting, then the nurse helped him lie down again.

"Ow," Ryan finally said, a few minutes later, when he felt like he could open his mouth without being sick again.

His ass was burning but his head hurt less, and Ryan certainly wasn't going to complain.

"Better?" the nurse asked.

He croaked a "Yeah," remembering just in time not to nod—in fact, he was never going to nod ever again.

It was probably safer that way.

"Well, do you want me to send your visitor back?" the nurse asked. Her voice caught on "visitor," making Ryan wonder if there was anyone in Newport who didn't know Mrs. Thyls.

Ryan almost replied that he didn't feel up to it, and could she please, in the name of all that was holy, tell Mrs. Thyls to come back tomorrow.

Or the day after that.

Or never.

Whatever.

Sadly, experience had taught Ryan that it never helped to delay the inevitable.

He had managed to get on Mrs. Thyls' radar, and now, she wanted to talk to him.

And if a tenth of the stories he'd heard were true, Mrs. Thyls would talk to him, eventually.

At least, if he allowed her back now, he could blame any unfortunate words leaving his mouth on the concussion, and the painkiller the nurse had given him was so good that the whole experience might even be relatively painless.

"Sure," he said. "Send her back in."

The nurse gave him a strange look, and Ryan thought she was biting back a smile as she said, "Well, you're braver than most people in this town are, then."

Ryan smiled weakly. "Right." Then, because he had to know—forewarned was forearmed and all that—he asked, "Did I throw up in front of her?"

The nurse chuckled. "No."

Ryan let out a small sigh of relief.

That was something, he guessed.

The nurse winked at him sympathetically and got out, and a few seconds later, Mrs. Thyls was back.

"So, you're fine, is that what you were saying?" she asked, as soon as she set foot in the room.

One thing to say for the woman; she didn't beat around the bush.

Ryan sighed. "I will be," he amended. "In a few days."

Mrs. Thyls harrumphed. "Of course." She sighed and came back to her seat, looking less intimidating and more, well, elderly. "Well, I was just stopping by to thank you," she said.

"Thank me?" Ryan repeated, wondering if he was going to survive this weird, weird day, with his sanity intact.

The way things were going, the odds didn't look good.

The scary lady was actually thanking him?

Wasn't she supposed to yell at him?

Or at the very least, imply nasty things about young people these days, and possibly embarrass him in front of people?

"For saving me," Mrs. Thyls explained. "That thug hit me, and would certainly have hurt me eventually."

Ryan blinked at her, and she made an impatient gesture. "Well, don't look so surprised. Don't tell me no one has ever thanked you for saving their life."

"I don't usually save people's lives," Ryan replied. Which wasn't totally true. He did have a well-known tendency to rush into danger and try to help people. Trey had complained about it often enough. As had Dawn. And Theresa. And Arturo. And Eddie.

But still, "saving someone's life" sounded so… dramatic.

"Of course, you usually steal their money and threaten them with guns, and possibly even kill them," Mrs. Thyls said with a small, knowing smile.

"What?" Ryan asked, grimacing when his too loud voice echoed in his head.

Okay, no nodding and no loud talking.

"That's what word in town is," Mrs. Thyls said. "According to half the town, you're after the Cohens' money, and according to the other half, you're going to corrupt our innocent youth and eventually vanish into thin air, leaving only a path of destruction in your wake."

Ryan felt his lips curl in what was probably a grimace. "That was predictable," he muttered.

He could understand why people thought that about him, but really, he was just one sixteen-year-old kid. What did they think he could do against their whole community?

And besides, it wasn't as if they didn't have thieves in their midst already. In light of Jimmy Cooper stealing a few millions from his clients, Ryan stealing a car and getting caught seemed pretty pitiful, really.

"Yes, I'm afraid it was," Mrs. Thyls said, a little sadly. "There are lots of things I like in this town, but its people's bigotry is not one of them."

Her voice was softer now, and Ryan studied her for a long while, frowning.

He had heard so many horror stories about her in the last few days, and no one had seemed to believe that Mrs. Thyls had a heart. In fact, everyone seemed convinced that she drank blood on a regular basis and didn't need mirrors anymore.

Yet…

Yet, she had just spent about ten minutes in Ryan's room, maybe even more, and she hadn't made one derogatory comment to him. She had thanked him, expressed concern for him… what the hell was going on here?

She may be grateful that he helped her, but even gratefulness didn't change people that much, Ryan knew that.

"You look like you expect me to tell you that these people are right and I agree with them."

"I do," Ryan replied.

Mrs. Thyls chuckled and Ryan groaned softly.

Clearly, the painkillers had kicked in, and were now making him way too relaxed.

Was that what Seth felt like, most of the time—unable to control what he said, and only able to cringe when he realized what he had said? If so, Ryan was seriously going to be more sympathetic to his plight in the future.

"Ah, yes, I remember now," Mrs. Thyls said. "The Scary Lady—surely, that boy you're living with has told you all about me."

"Obviously not 'all,'" Ryan said.

Mrs. Thyls waved a hand around. "Yes. Well, I'm an old woman, Ryan. My children have made a life for themselves, and I need entertainment. There's so little to watch on TV these days."

"Entertainment?" Ryan repeated, incredulous. "You mean… you're scaring people on purpose?"

She smiled brightly. "Of course. I have a lot of money, so they're forced to deal with me anyway, and I enjoy watching people squirm."

Ryan bit his lip, fighting a smile. "Are you having me on?" he asked.

She stood up. "Of course, not," she replied primly. "I was just making sure that you were all right, and that you knew how grateful I am."

"It's okay—" Ryan said, dismissing her thanks.

"I'm well aware of what kind of world we live in, Ryan," Mrs. Thyls said. "I know that many people wouldn't have stopped and helped."

Ryan shrugged. He knew as well as she did that, too often, people didn't help.

"Now, I would appreciate if my little secret could remain…secret."

Ryan smiled. "No problem," he said. "No one would believe me anyway."

She nodded, patted his leg. "I'll go."

"Mrs. Thyls?" he asked, as she was exiting the room.

"Yes?"

"How long have you…"

He trailed off, unsure how to put it, but she seemed to understand his question. "Since my oldest son passed away," she replied, smiling sadly. "Eleven years."

Ryan started to laugh, quietly, so as to not awaken the pain again.

She smiled at him. "I think I like you," she announced, leaving the room before he could react.

Ryan stretched on the bed, feeling tired and dazed and slightly nauseous—almost as if he had just spent three hours listening to Seth's ramblings.

Could this day possibly get any weirder? he wondered, drifting to sleep.

TBC