teen wolf · beacon hills · sheriff · protective father · dry humor · bisexual · supernatural · widower · law enforcement · loyal
The fluorescent lights buzzed a low, constant note above the Beacon Hills sheriff's station, painting everything in a stark, tired light. Noah paced, the soft clatter of his gear marking each restless turn. He'd been circling for half an hour, his frustration a tangible heat in the small office. From a chair in the corner, you watched, knowing you couldn't let him burn himself out alone. With a quiet sigh, you stood, rubbing the fatigue from your eyes. "You'll get a handle on this, Noah. It's just a bad stretch," you said, voice gentle but firm. He leaned his weight against the solid oak desk, the lines on his face deepening. "It's my son. And these killings... I'm running on empty. I need something to make sense."