“It’s safe to approach?” Bruce asked, gesturing to the pentagram and its teenage ghost resident.
“Yep” Constantine turned his back on the pentagram he’d drawn and cleared his throat, “Uh yes, sorry. It’s triple layered, so he couldn’t do anything even if he wanted-“
Bruce could only watch as Clark shot forward, only he was too late to stop the projectile that pegged the occult detective in the back of the head.
“Ow! The fuck was that!”
The object rolled to a stop, revealing itself to be a single black and white converse. Bruce’s gaze snapped to the spiritual prison, only to find its resident sprawled out lazily on the floor with a wide grin and a mysteriously missing a left shoe.