[ the blood shack is too far - that's what she's thinking as he speaks, as he gets heavier on his feet. the bar just outside the hall is too far; people can't see them like this.
but she's listening too - and what he's saying makes her angry, resentful. he could have stopped her - he didn't. he risked himself, stupidly, recklessly. what could she learn from nearly draining him? she grits her teeth; there's obviously something more important to address right now, and that's helping him to the floor. she turns to lean him against the wall, eases him down and straddles his leg.
what's important right now is he needs blood. she could use her fangs for this, but she has no thought or desire to. instead she picks up a sharp piece of glass - something they broke before she hurt him - and slices a long, deep cut up her wrist. she tips damon's head up, presses the wound to his mouth, and guides her blood down his throat with a slight wince.
it's inevitable he'll choke, maybe wake up. she holds his chin firmly. ] Swallow. [ she says it past her tears, her anger, her worry and the horror tangled up in her gut. he has to swallow. she has to take care of him. he needs blood and then - helen's. ]