A/N: An anon here on fanfiction requested a fic set in my Problem Child 'verse, about "how Leo and the guys were, before Splinter found them."

I mentioned on tumblr that I wanted to take more general prompts at the moment, and take a break from writing fic-specific extras, but this prompt stuck out to me. There's so much I won't be able to share about the boys' past in Problem Child, if only because Mikey's the one telling that story, and he just doesn't remember very much about the situation they were in before Yoshi came along, given how young he was at the time.

So I'll indulge myself just a little. This will probably only be a few chapters long. But, as always, I'd love to hear what you guys think, or what you guys might like to read about. (:

The first time Yoshi saw one of them, it was in the heart of Chinatown. He'd heard from a colleague about a nice restaurant there, and with an hour free for lunch, Yoshi decided to seek it out.

It was, he decided, halfway through a bowl of the best udon he could remember tasting in the United States, a good decision.

The kindly blind chef was cleaning his work station behind the counter, and Yoshi might have spoken up to compliment the meal, had he not been interrupted by the soft chime of the bells above the door.

"Welcome," Murakami called out, and Yoshi was unprepared to hear a child's voice reply.

"Hi, Mr. Murakami."

Yoshi couldn't help turning in his stool to glance at the young one; the boy couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old, and unaccompanied by parents, that was certainly strange. Murakami's weathered face warmed with his smile, and he beckoned the child closer.

"Donatello, how are you? You've come alone today?"

Donatello- an unusual name- took a few steps forward, his eyes darting from the storeowner to Yoshi, where he sat at the counter. Something timid crept into his round brown eyes, and he folded his hands together tightly.

"Yeah, it's- Leo didn't want Raph to go out, and Mikey won't go anywhere without him, so it's just me. I'm- I'm really sorry, you're usually empty now- "

It was late afternoon; Yoshi knew from his neighbor, who owned a large diner, that restaurants usually experienced a lull in business between two and four. It struck him as odd that a child would know that, too.

"I've told you countless times, you are always welcome here," Murakami said, with a hint of mild reprimand in his voice as he turned back to a few simmering pots. "Now come sit, eat some soup. I just made a batch of udon noodles for Hamato-san, here," he said, as Donatello stepped up to the counter obediently. He nodded shyly at Yoshi, and Yoshi couldn't help smiling back. "And I know how found you are of tempura, I have some extra here."

"Um, I'd rather- if it's okay, I mean- just take something back with me? For my brothers?"

"Of course, of course." Murakami's back was to the child, but Yoshi could see only part of his face, and watched his mouth turn down. "Raphael is still sick?"

"Yeah. I think it's just 'cause it's so cold." And Yoshi noticed- suddenly, sharply- that the boy was not wearing any coat or gloves, not even a hat; just jeans and a thin jumper, and a duct-taped bookbag hanging over one shoulder. His nose and the tips of his ears were red with cold, and Yoshi wondered if he was holding his hands together more for warmth than out of anxiety. "Leo says he'll be okay, though."

"Well, it's a good idea to listen to Leonardo, isn't it?" Murakami said gently, turning back to face the boy. "He always seems to know what's best. And I know he won't mind if you have a bowl of soup while you wait."

Donatello grinned at that, gap-toothed and grateful, and climbed into one of the stools at the counter. He tucked into the steaming bowl Murakami set before him so heartily that Yoshi felt a thread of honest concern worm its way into gentle amusement as he watched sidelong.

The boy was poorly dressed for such a cold day, and hungry. Yoshi had a dozen questions, but he managed to swallow them. It would be wrong of him to pry answers from a child.

It was almost time for him to head back to his office, but he couldn't help lingering; nursing a cup of warm tea as Murakami helped the boy bundle a large clay pot, wrapped in several towels, into his backpack, with a few plastic containers to go with it.

"Curry and rice," he said, with a knowing wink. "Raphael's favorite. And there are taiyaki in there as well, for Michelangelo."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Murakami!" the boy said brightly, as the storeowner helped him back into his backpack. "Me and Leo will be back tomorrow, to help you in the kitchen."

"I look forward to it." He returned Donatello's wave at the door, and only sighed when the boy had gone. "Those boys. Leonardo wouldn't accept any help from me if I hadn't offered him work in my store. He feels better when he can earn the food for his family, as though it's shameful to accept any kindness in the form of charity."

With a shake of his head, he returned to wiping down the counter, and Yoshi felt somewhat staggered by the events of the last thirty minutes or so. "I apologize," he said, slowly, "but I must ask… Those children are- homeless? Have they any parents? Or a guardian?"

"Not that I'm aware of. From what I've seen, Leonardo takes care of them. I don't know very much about them, honestly- I only saw them for the first time a few months ago. They haven't always been in this area. They were probably- probably abandoned."

Something sick curled in the pit of Yoshi's stomach, and his fingers tightened around his cup so hard it threatened to crack.

"And how old," he found himself asking, quietly, "is Leonardo?"

Murakami didn't look up from his methodical cleaning, and answered only after a long moment had gone by.

"He is ten."