It's all Dave can do not to continuously poke fun at this situation. He's stressed and emotionally exhausted from the amount of times he's had to see his brother die, but he rarely lets himself express anything beyond mild annoyance at a situation. Making jokes is the easy way to get him back onto pretending this isn't a big deal, which is difficult in itself.

He makes a face up at Clem when she looks down, if only to distract her from the fact that it's probably a pretty bad view with or without him making ugly faces. Once it looks as if Clem is safe, he'll start to climb faster. It's nothing he hasn't done before, granted, climbing the satellite tower on the roof of your apartment isn't quite the same when there isn't a large body of ice-cold, shark-filled water waiting under you.

"Nah." He calls out, not looking particularly worried as he scales the last few lengths so he can reach up and swing himself onto the platform. God, ow. He doesn't have many of those left in him. The bruises are forming vividly now, blood tinting the purple of his shirt and the tips of his hair. It's been a long day, obviously. He'll brace his hands on his knees to take a moment to catch his breath and wheeze out: "I'm too old for this ship." He doesn't stay in that position long, at least, he's straightening up and getting back into alert mode, looking appraisingly at Clem and Clara and wondering whether he should ask the painful question. Someone has to.

"Are we the only ones left?"