Lil missing scene from the movie
My favorite trope is when a character who is very hungry gets fed
Casey’s stomach growls, and he can only hope it’s masked by the rumbling of the tank as it travels through the subway.
He’s good at ignoring hunger pangs by now. Knows how to swallow them down and push ahead, had to learn because there’s never been enough food to truly silence them. Maybe when he was a child, and the adults in his life were fine with going with less when it meant he would be full, but as Casey’s body grew and demanded more and more the colony only had less and less.
He just hopes the turtles didn’t hear it. It’s embarrassing, and not really the impression he’s trying to give. And besides, it’s not like there’s anything they can do about it. They’re not going to stop for lunch.
Unfortunately, his stomach has other plans - right as there’s a lull in the conversation it growls again, and this time Michelangelo turns away from the console and looks at him in awe.
“Dude, was that your stomach!?”
“Uh…” He grins, trying to shrug it off. “Yes?”
“That was sooo loud! I thought there was a bear in here!”
“Oh. Sorry. Uh… it’s been awhile since my last meal.”
He’s hoping they just drop it there, but…
“How long is “awhile”?” asks Leonardo. He sounds unimpressed, and there’s the same piercing look in his eye that Sensei would have when he’d ask the same. When’d you last eat, kid?
So Casey knows there’s no dodging this one. The thing is, he’s not sure how to answer the question - there was the whole time travel business, and the mission before that, and the time he spent unconscious, and the attack on the Foot Clan…
Point is, he can only guess. He hopes Leonardo doesn’t see it as lying.
“Um… thirty five hours? Maybe?” That’s a pretty conservative estimate, but he hopes it flies. “But I’m fine! I’ve handled worse than this.”
Leonardo staring at him. Actually, they’re all staring at him. None of them look happy, and Casey’s stomach flips from something other than hunger.
Then Leonardo sighs, and he sounds disappointed. Casey opens his mouth to plead his case, to assure Sensei that he’s fit and ready to go, but Leonardo interrupts him by addressing Donatello instead.
“What’ve we got in the snack stash, Dee?”
“Hmmm…” Donatello flips on the autopilot again, leaving his chair and flipping open a compartment on the wall. “Sour candy, hot Cheeto’s, some snack cakes…”
“Oh, you don’t want any of that on an empty stomach,” says Michelangelo. “Trust me, it’s not worth it.”
“Well, we have some pretzels in here, and… oh.” Donatello’s voice goes a little quieter. “Some of Raph’s protein bars.”
Casey starts to insist that he doesn’t want to take Raphael’s food, but before he can Donatello has closed the compartment, wrapped food in hand.
“If you’ve been eating,” he makes a face, “leaves and rats, this is probably the best thing we can give you right now.” He fans them out. “We have plain and chocolate chunk.”
“I like the peanut butter ones,” says Michelangelo, “but we can’t keep those around.”
(A memory: Master Michelangelo making him a peanut butter sandwich as a special treat. Carefully wiping down the counter and utensils he’d used. When Casey asked, he’d said, “Because Raph-“
The sad look on his face was brief, but Casey never forgot.
“…Because we need to be careful, in case someone has a peanut allergy.”)
He takes one of the plain ones, unwrapping it hesitantly. Sensei’s voice echoes in his head, Eat slow. Small bites.
He knows he should, but when he tastes it his stomach roars to life, ravenous and angry. Before he knows it he’s eaten the entire bar in four barely chewed bites, and wishes he hadn’t because now it’s gone and he feels hungrier than when he began.
They’re still staring at him. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just says, “Thank you,” sincerely, because sharing food is the ultimate gesture of love in the apocalypse.
The rest of the bars are suddenly being shoved his way - four of them in total. “Here,” says Donatello, not meeting his eyes. “You can have the rest.”
“Ah, no,” he says quickly, trying to push them back. “I can’t take-“
“Raph always forgets they’re here, anyway,” says Donatello, waving him off. “Someone might as well eat them.”
Casey takes the bars. Donatello sits back down. They’re not looking at him anymore.
He looks at the protein bars in his hands. He’s still hungry.
He takes smaller bites this time. Savors the taste of oats and other flavors he can’t readily identify. It’s good. It’s really, really good.
He stows the last three bars away. He may need them later. Or maybe he can give them back to Raphael, after they rescue him.
“Three minutes to Metro Tower,” says Donatello, and he focuses up. His stomach’s quiet now - there’s no excuses.
He found the key. Now it’s time to stop the Krang.
