Dave sits on the edge of the fountain, dreading the task he is about to undergo. It's inevitable, though, if he wants to get around without being questioned by policeman. He tests the water and shivers. Damn.
Well, there's no time like the present, so he glances around a couple times, judges himself to be alone, and starts to peel off his crusty clothes. He dumps the lot in the fountain and swishes them around for a while, then leaves them to soak. He eyes the water warily, then steps in. It's pretty cold, but if he wades around for a while, it starts to get a little bearable. After a few minutes of nervous pacing, he lowers himself into the fountain and begins to scrub the blood and filth off.
For once, Dave seems to have been granted a small amount of good luck; he hasn't seen a single person since he arrived in the park. That's to his advantage, of course—he's nearly been arrested multiple times for doing this sort of thing. But hey, free water. What did they expect to happen?
Dave isn't so fond of the night's moon, though, because it's full and it's giving his now-clean skin a ghostly white glow. He's like a beacon in the middle of a forest and anyone passing by would have no problem spotting him. Nervously, Dave sinks lower into the fountain in an effort to conceal himself, but it's not very big and he's pretty sure that as small as he is, he's still sticking out a good deal.
At this point his body is wracked with shivers, and he thinks it would be best to get out soon. He tries to speed the laundry process along, rubbing his clothes together to try and scrub the blood off. He's gotten most of the heavy chunk off, but the filth has left blotchy red stains all over everything and he's pretty sure they aren't going to come out any time soon. He was out too long for that, way too long, and there's very little hope for salvaging any of his clothes. He'll have to make do because he doesn't actually own any other clothes, but he'll look pretty wretched while he does.
What will Rose think?
Dave quickly decides to try and steal some clothes, any clothes, regardless of colour, just so that he will have something to wear that won't upset her. Or he could tell her the stains were made by ketchup or spaghetti sauce or tomato paste or…any of the other various things he clearly would have had absolutely no contact with. No, alternate clothes is the only proper solution.
Dave stands, shivering in the cold air, and wrings the water out of his clothes. He glances around a few times to make sure no one is around, then gathers his meagre belongings in his arms and scurries deeper in the forest. He decides it's safest to pull on his shorts and hang the rest on tree branches, on the off chance someone comes by. He doesn't think that will happen, though, because people rarely stray from the path and go this deep into the woods. So Dave gives his hanging, soggy clothes one last once-over and sits at the base of his chosen tree between the roots. He leans his back against the trunk, careful not to scrape himself, and closes his eyes.
When Dave wakes up, the sun is high in the sky and he is, at the very least, dry again. He stands, feeling very numb, and takes his clothes from the tree. Without much attention to ritual, he pulls them on and pauses to appreciate just how damn necessary clothes are.
Without much more thought, Dave begins to walk back to the path. His sense of direction is good and it doesn't take him long to find his way. As he walks, he tries to work out the stiffness in his joints, wondering vaguely if he had been out more than a day. It was cold, yeah, but not that cold… But exposure is more than that, and he had spent a good couple of hours in a frigid swimming pool.
Dave keeps his eyes on the gravel of the path as he walks, not really paying attention to where he's going. He's too busy trying to figure out if there's some sort of universal indicator signifying his lights-out moments, something other than stupid, generic things like stiffness. He's trying to decide whether or not he should add this to his running tally of "deaths", but it all seems very cagey and he's not sure if he should count it or not. Was he out, or just asleep? Did he—
"Dave?"
Dave snaps back to attention, looking up to see a horrified John Egbert sitting beside his father on the edge of the very fountain he had spent the last night splashing around in.
"Holy shit, Dave, what happened to you?" John is asking, his voice strained with worry. Dave looks down at his stained clothes, feeling completely drained. He then turns his attention back to John, who is clearly waiting for an explanation. Hell, even his father seems concerned.
But they aren't going to get one. Not a real one, anyway. So Dave just forces a smile on his face and prepares to pretend that everything's okay.
"Hey, John."