Work Text:
Xylo never imagined himself having to be the adult.
He stood stock still, staring down an innocent, terrified kid. who was curled up and panting, shrinking away from him in the comforting weave of tree roots. Dirt smeared all over her, hair matted. See-through jelly arms streaked in rough cuts and dried blood, the cruel red and dried brown stark against her cyan arms. She looked like he did; scruffy, abandoned, scared, and he didn't doubt wildly mistrustful. Sour Strap took a shuddering breath in, stepping back, and sitting on his knees a breathable distance away.
...
Xylo shifted his legs, readjusting his body weight, turning his head from the poor girl. His brows were furrowed and breathing shuddery, blankly staring into the grass beneath them. She looked so bloody young to him. She had to be... what, ten? The weight of his water bottle nestled in his knapsack felt as if it was weighing him to the spot, hand already working open the scrunched top, reaching for the stolen bottle.