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He was just trying to do what was best. When Max realizes that, as well as Gwen, then he'll be less torn up about all of this.
Obviously.
Of course, he has to make sure that Campbell doesn't piss in one of the bushes, then make sure that all the campers are going to sleep in their tents and not trying to cause trouble- and sure, he wasn't able to dodge the dirty looks they all gave him, but they're kids. They give dirty looks to everyone. Except for Space Kid. That child hasn't been unhappy since the minute he got here. ... besides that one botched attempt to record a fake moon landing.
He's pretty sure that he might have been sick or high on something, looking back on it. If he doesn't think about it, though, he can't get got for criminal negligence!
Gwen won't talk to him, though, so... that's a minus.
He finds himself poking at the smoldering ashes of the campfire with a stick after most everyone has finally gone to sleep- keyword most, because Max had arrived, hands in his sweatshirt pockets, giving him a hard to read look. He just... looks over, offers a lame wave, and goes back to poking at the campfire.
"... I still can't fucking believe you did that, David." He doesn't dignify this with a response. "I mean- something cheesy like setting up a group hug where everyone spills their feelings and has a heartfelt revelation? That's more something I'd expect from you. But paying a criminal to pretend to rob the camp so Campbell would do something good? That's ballsy."
"Go to sleep, Max." He's... quiet, which surprises him, first and foremost. Hm.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm already on my way. Good luck with your newfound moral ambiguity, camp man! It's about goddamn time you joined the rest of us!" He watches Max go silently, throws the stick into the smoldering campfire pit, and rubs at his face.
The way he thought about it was so... well, it had a much better ending in his head. He was surprised with himself when he even thought of it. Of course the campers would be rubbing off on him- he spends so much time with them, it'd be impossible for that not to happen. But for his morals to come into question like this?
God, what would his parents say?
... what would his mother think?
He waits until the campfire has gone all the way out to slip out to the camp car and fumbles for the keys, rubbing at his eyes. He knows better than anyone that he won't be getting any sleep, tonight, not with the way his thoughts are going. It'd be a bad idea to leave them like this, as well. There are plenty of things he could do to get his mind off of it, but he doubts that even his normal activities late at night would help.
... besides. Those usually involve Gwen, and... she's not talking to him.
So he takes the van out as quietly as he can (which isn't very quiet at all, but that's okay) and drives down to Sleepy Peak Hollow, slips into the bar, and orders a drink.
He's not stupid enough to ever rely on this as a source of comfort. His father did that, and he drowned himself in whiskey until he couldn't think straight for years, until one day, he just didn't get up- and David knows better than to seek that route of comfort. His mother always told him that a few drinks here and there couldn't hurt, but to always be vigilant, no matter what.
So he lets himself have this, and uses Campbell as a solemn reminder of what not to get like, this late at night.
He just needs a break, is all.
He's about a few drinks in when the bartender finally looks up from polishing their glasses, eying him carefully. "... so. Don't see you often."
"Oh, y'know, I, I don't really have much of a reason, to... usually come in here." Oh, dear. He's had just a little too much to drink, hasn't he?
"You work with them kids up in that there camp, right?"
"Oh! Yes, uh, Camp, Camp Campbell! Ohh, they mean'th, they're just sweet kids, really, all different places in the world, I think.... or America. Maybe just America. We had a few foreign exchange campers a lil' while back, 'cept they... well. That's complicated. They left?" A shrug. They tried to commit seppuku, he thinks. Or some of them tried. It was upsetting!
"Sounds like hell." The bartender chuckles and pours him another drink. He sips it.
"Aw, they, they mean well. 's not always easy, mind you, but they... they deserve the world." They deserve better than him, anyways.
"They do, huh?"
"... yeah. They do." He finishes off the rest of his drink and rubs at his eyes. "They deserve a, a great counsel'r, one that, that makes sure they're safe, not... hires a criminal to scare another counselor into behaving. What... hah- what kind of a counselor d'you think that'd be, huh? Not a good one at all! I'd even dare to say a bad counselor!"
What kind of a counselor lets all the things that happen at Camp Campbell happen, huh? A terrible, no good, rotten one. Who lets children start food fights, who lets them go on unsafe adventures through the woods because they're brilliant minded and keep trying to escape, who can't even stop himself from getting hit by cars over and over again and countless other injuries, who can't confiscate knives from children who somehow keep getting them, who can't do their gosh darned job--
"... you've probably had enough drinks, buddy."
He probably has, but he doesn't like being told what he can and can't do, not really, so he's grumpy about that. "... I guess." Of course he's still crying. "... I might drive back't camp. 's not... 's not far, 's okay, right?"
"I don't make the decisions, bud'. I just pour the drinks."
Well, he can't really argue with that, now, can he? They're just doing their job. Something he could be doing much better.
The drive back is... well, it could go better, he's very lucky that the local police don't pull him over- they like to do that for small things, sometimes, or just to make small talk, and while he can't fault them for just doing their job, he's a very big nuisance to them, he feels like, and... technically very drunk, so he'd rather avoid another ticket. He has too many of those thanks to this camp.
Thanks to Campbell.
Parking the car as best he can (not very well at all), he steps out and locks the door, missing the keyport a few times. It takes a moment to try and open the counselor cabin door as silently as he can, and so what if he makes a few sneaking noises, he's allowed to make whatever fucking noises he wants, he is a grown adult-
"You're out late, David."
Uh oh.
He turns from where he's closing the door and stares at a very awake, mildly pissed off looking Gwen, face heating up in embarrassment. Or shame. Maybe both. He doesn't really know at the moment.
"Gwen! Shhh, shh, the, there are sleeping kids, okay, you've gotta be-"
"Are you fucking serious, David?"
"... yes?"
She rubs at the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath, then sets down her book, looking him over. "How many."
He has to count on his fingers. "... s... uh. Seven? Seven."
"Jesus fucking Christ."
"I deserve a, I, I deserve this, Gwen. I need breaks too, y'know."
"Normally, I'd agree with you! Hell, I might have even agreed to take you out, because obviously you've let Max get into your head one too many times and it's stuck, and maybe a reset would help you some! But are you fucking serious, David? It's four! In the morning!"
"... oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
"... I didn' realize how, uh. How late it was."
"No shit."
"... I'm sorry-"
"I know you are, David. I'm still pissed."
"But-"
"Just because you say 'ooh, I'm so sorry for taking the camp car out after pulling the shit I did tonight and getting piss-ass drunk and thinking it was a great idea to leave my co-counselor worried that I'd somehow managed to throw myself into the fucking lake with said car', it doesn't mean that I have to accept that apology, David! I have a right to be mad!"
"I know. I wasn'... I just- you have every right't be mad, Gwen. Y'know?" He sits down on his bed and rubs at his face, swallowing down a hiccup. He had those all the way back in the car and he's not sure what to do about it. Hiccups are pesky things, you know. "An' I don'... I don' blame you for being angry. Because what I did, it was wrong. I jus'... thought that it was the- the right thing to do?"
Gwen levels him with a glare for a few more moments before letting out a defeated sigh, leaning back in her bed. "You're an idiot, David. I hope you know that."
"The stupidiest."
"That's not even a word-- look. Just... promise me that you won't do that again? Or at least consult me before you go through with a stupid idea."
"Caaaaan do, CBFL!" He salutes her with the camp salute- but he hits himself in the forehead and flinches back just a little, startling. "Oh, gosh darn it-"
That earns a snort from Gwen. "Yeah, shut up and love the camp in your dreams. I'll take care of Campbell. Dumbass."
"Gwen?" He looks up from his spot in the bed where he's already leveraging himself down into, as far as laying down is concerned.
"What?"
"... thank you for not hating me."
"I can't hate you. You're an idiot, not evil. No more hiring criminals, though."
"He almost shot me for real."
"Wait, what?" Oh, she’s a little more than worried about that. “David, what the fuck?”
“‘S okay, ‘s okay. ‘S okay.” He takes off his bandana and sniffs, setting it down. “He didn’, so ‘s okay.”
“Shut the fuck, oh my God.” She sounds worried, and aggressive, but in that strangely caring way of hers. She’s not… great with expressing things without anxiety or aggression somewhere in her voice, so he understands. She’s got her own ways of showing she cares. He appreciates her for that either way.
She just kind of- shoves the blankets over his head and he pokes his head out of them, chuckling. “... night, Gwen.”
“Go to bed or suffer the consequences.” He turns over in his bed, and it isn’t too long before he hears the bedside light on Gwen’s side of the room go out, too, and he lets sleep take over.
All things considered? Things didn’t go as badly as he thought they would’ve.
He’s glad.