My, my...did I get requests to add on to this? Wish granted!
I found a pic of the described Reddit post and...I had to do it.
Enjoy.
"Peter! I need to poke your brain!"
'Oh God, please no.' Was the collective thought of the Hale Pack when they overheard the resident Spark and self-proclaimed 'mad genius' calling out for everyone's favorite 'Zombie Wolf', as the hyperactive teen sprinted into the house, through the foyer, and nearly crashing into the living room where the eldest Hale was currently taking up the entirety of the new couch (hand-picked by Lydia, Allison, and Erica...and paid for with Derek's Visa that Cora had 'borrowed' for that particular shopping trip to furnish the rebuilt Hale House) with his own new, and decidedly expensive, laptop.
"And why exactly do you need to 'poke my brain'?" Peter said without even glancing away from playing Stardew Valley on his laptop (his fondness, borderline addiction, for the game being completely Isaac's fault, though he would never blame the curly-haired pup beyond light-hearted teasing). "I am in the middle of trying to reach level 100 of Skull Cavern, if you do not mind."
"Just tell me how fast and hard the average werewolf can slap something."
That finally got the majority of the pack to look away from their teams-version of Mario Party (to the relief of Jackson and Aiden who were losing horribly, and the annoyance of Scott and Isaac who were currently in the lead) and made Boyd put down his book, so that they could focus on what this latest chaos was about. Erica and Cora exchanged confused looks, Danny just shrugged and settled back against Ethan's chest, and Allison looked on curiously as Lydia feigned disinterest in favor of continuing to focus on her 'shopping tablet'.
Peter, on the other hand however, seemed to pause and run Stiles' words through his mind (not even allowing himself to be annoyed for once as his character fell victim to the current bane of his existence in-game, Death by Flying Serpent Swarm). 'There has to be a way to deal with those accursed things...'
Finally, the werewolf looked up at the teenager practically draped over the back of the couch not unlike a limpet, yet still somehow managing to pull up something on his phone. "Okay, you have my attention."
Without further ado, Stiles grinned (seemingly finding what he had been looking for in his camera roll) and looked back at the momentarily confused wolf. "Okay, so I was on Reddit earlier, excellent site by the way, you should check that out, might get inspired...just leave my dad alone, Uncle Creeper, and there was this thread called No Stupid Questions, with a title like that you know it's gonna be good, and it was-"
"Stiles. What does this have to do with slapping? Preferably explain without going into a tangent about shampoo if possible."
"That was one time, and it was true." Stiles muttered with a roll of his eyes before deciding to get to meat of the matter before he caused the rest of the pack to suffer from a Stiles-induced-whiplash...again. "Anyway...someone asked, and I quote, "If kinetic energy is converted into thermal energy, how hard do I have to slap a chicken to cook it?", end quote."
Everyone save for the second resident 'mad genius' stared at one another (all, even Lydia, still running on confused). Peter, however, nodded, beginning to catch on to where exactly this was going, and quickly sent his character to bed so that he could save his game and exit back to his desktop. "I see. I take it someone must have provided an answer to the question or you would not have yours?"
"You got it." Stiles grinned, eyes alight with either crazed excitement...or his control on his magic was slipping for a brief moment. "An actual physics major did. Used the whole formula, set in the variables, you know, like, average human hand weight and slap velocity, average rotisserie chicken weight and heat capacity, temperature that the tasty yard bird meat needs to be at to consider it cooked and ready to eat, and all that jazz and, long story made short-"
"Not short enough." Came Jackson and Aiden's muttered interruptions...that only succeeded in earning them both a slap on the bicep from Lydia and Erica for their trouble.
"-The physics major calculated that it would take a human a total of 23,034 average slaps to cook a two-pound frozen chicken." Stiles continued as if he hadn't even heard the Beta and former-Alpha's comment, nor their punishment from two of his favorite femme fatales.
"That...is actually quite interesting...and deserving of a test to prove the calculations." Peter said thoughtfully, a decidedly malicious grin on his face as he lightly rubbed his chin. "Did this physics major calculate the speed a slap would need to be to cook the chicken in one hit?"
"Yep. 3725.95 mph apparently...and I wish Mythbusters was still around 'cause I would pay money to see them build a rig to test that."
"The chicken cannon was pretty cool." Boyd said with a small shrug, earning wide-eyed stares from the rest of the pack who genuinely did not believe that Boyd, cool and calm Boyd, would have honestly liked a show that, while informative, also involved copious amounts of explosions. "What?"
Peter and Stiles, however, were in their own world now, dutifully ignoring the pack around them in favor of contemplating the current 'issue' laid out before them like a glorious buffet of potential mischief that would make a certain Alpha's Eyebrows of Doom do a crazy dance all their own. Finally, Peter closed his laptop. "Stiles...I'll get the whiteboard and markers, you get the frozen chickens; we'll need one for a human to slap and a second for a wolf. We might also need a sheet of plastic...and, of course, two test subjects."
Stiles just smirked, a perfect mirror of Peter's own wicked grin, and turned his gaze down at the gathered pack. "Scott...or should I say 'Test Subject One'?"
Scott let out a tiny whimper. "This...is for last Monday, isn't it?"
. . .
Hours later, Derek returned home to find the kitchen covered in plastic sheeting, his pack cleaning up and occasionally eating bits from a grocery's worth of what smelled like former-frozen chickens, Scott and Jackson both sitting at the bar with their hands in their own respective plastic dishpans of some kind of herb and oil-mixed concoction, Ethan holding Danny's hands to take away his boyfriend's pain, and a whiteboard set up to one side and surrounded by a quickly debating Stiles, Peter, and Lydia.
Stiles was holding what looked like a composition book in his hands, while Peter wrote and erased on the whiteboard, and Lydia rattled off the differences between the average weights, speed, and strength factors between male and female wolves and how they would need to test those variables to have a final answer...to which the pair of mad genius rather loudly agreed with wholeheartedly and began to add into whatever calculations they were doing.
Derek just calmly picked up his keys from the ring that he had hung them on and slowly made his way back out of the front door before practically leaping from the porch to his Camaro.
