Clark was doing a poor job of stifling his conflicted emotions. Anger. Frustration. Shame. Ever since Castiel had returned with Kon and had announced what had happened to him, Clark had recycled each feeling over and over again, never entirely sure on which he was supposed to cling to. He was angry that this had happened. He was frustrated that there was nothing that he could do about it. More than anything else, however, Clark was ashamed. From the moment that he had become entangled with the apocalypse through the Seal's doing, Clark had promised himself that he was going to ensure Kon stayed safe. He had known that Kon hadn't been feeling well. It seemed that, especially over the past few months, he never really was. Clark should have kept a closer eye on him. He should have been around so that he would have known about his trip with Castiel long before it had happened. Clark was surrounded by a mass of should haves and left with a lot more did not than he knew what to do with.
But then, it seemed that he didn't know what to do with anything right now. Kon was blind. The apocalypse was falling on them in ways that even he wasn't sure he could stop. Everything was a mess and - while Clark wasn't one to give up so easily - it was disheartening to know that they were all being struck at so hard in so many different places with very little opportunity to strike back or even protect themselves from the unexpected.
Clark hadn't been away from Kon for long. He had watched him, both from at his bedside and from afar, more often than he had looked away. It was how he had spent most of his time since Kon had been blinded. It was only during the briefest of moments that Clark excused himself so that he could attend to an emergency or take care of important tasks that he had no choice but to personally see through. Clark had chosen to spend some time at the Fortress that day in the hopes of finding something that might help Kon get better more quickly. No matter what he dug through or how many different questions he asked Jor-El through the Fortress's interface system, Clark couldn't find the answers that he was looking for. There was no way to accelerate their healing process beyond a certain limited exposure to the sun's energy. Even that, in large doses, guaranteed nothing. Kon could be blind for a week. A month. A year, even. Or, if the sun didn't take to his system at all, he'd be blinded for the rest of his life.
Heavy hearted, Clark locked down the Fortress and escaped into the countryside for a while. He stopped to pick Kon up something to eat - a cheeseburger and fries from one of the many roadside diners that claimed to have the best burgers in the states - and soon afterward returned to Connor's.
It had taken a little effort for Clark to wipe the strong frown from his face when he arrived. He knew that Kon couldn't see it, but the idea of looking even the slightest bit defeated in front of Kon bothered him. Kon needed someone to be strong. He needed someone to believe that everything was going to work itself out. That someone had to be him.
Clark lifted the flimsy styrofoam container with a hand and dropped it onto the table next to the bed Kon had fallen into. He wasn't worried about alarming Kon with the noise; his sight may well have been absent, but as a Kryptonian his hearing should have been well beyond intact. Kon probably knew that Clark had been coming to visit him long before he had even set foot inside the room.
"I brought food," Clark announced in as optimistic of a voice as he could manage, "a cheeseburger. I was told it was the best." Clark hiked up a chair and dragged it across the floor. Once it was next to Kon's bed, he dropped into it and leaned forward. "How are you feeling?"