Rated: K+
Gabriel's not dead right now, because he's not the same little brother that Lucifer had abandoned when he Fell.
He's grown up (though it probably doesn't seem like it) and gotten stronger and smarter and more resourceful. He's become more stubborn, too, and it shows.
So what, Lucifer stabbed him with an angel-blade? Who cares that it's the only thing that can kill him? That doesn't mean he has to die. He just has to make it look like he did.
Crowley's actually fascinated when Gabriel tells him what he did, because it's more well-thought out than he'd have expected from The Trickster. It's more resourceful than he'd have expected from an archangel.
(So maybe it's a good thing that Gabe's not really one or the other, anymore.)
Before Lucifer had stabbed him, Gabriel had sent his Grace away. He'd hidden it, in, of all places, the Winchester's Impala. (There was a reason he'd been hiding in there, after Kali had 'killed' him.) He'd kept just enough to make a convincing illusion, of ashen wings on the floor of the hotel.
(Gabriel's really smarter than anyone gives him credit for, but he spends so much time acting like a magical five year old on crack that no one ever realizes.)
The thing about hiding his Grace away, though, was that it left him without Grace. And it takes a while to get back.
So for the time being, Gabe was as human as he'd ever be, and seriously not happy about it.
It was bad enough that he couldn't snap up candy, or video games, or TV, or sex, on a whim anymore, but he had all of a human's frailties, too.
Gabriel's sprawled out on Crowley's couch, complaining about nothing in particular (or maybe it's something specific. Crowley's not actually listening anymore, hasn't been, for the last couple of days.) and whining that he hasn't gotten laid in a month, when he sneezes.
Crowley slowly turns to look at the archangel (turned Trickster, turned something in between, turned-hopefully- temporary human), and Gabriel's trying to look at his own nose, because in the history of everything, Gabriel has never, ever sneezed.
Gabe frowns, suddenly, and looks up at Crowley. "Cupcake? I don't feel so- bleugah."
('Bleugah' is the subtle hint that Gabriel may be sick, as he empties the contents of his stomach out onto Crowley's living room carpet.)
Apparently, Gabriel's human frailties include susceptibility to human illnesses.
Crowley sighs, and summons a minion to clean up Gabe's puke (there are perks to being the top demon, and having minions to do his dirty work is one of them), and realizes that he knows next to nothing about human sickness.
(The most Crowley knows about sick humans is what illnesses are most likely to drive them to a crossroads. He's thinking that this knowledge probably doesn't apply here.)
Gabe's dry heaving on his couch, and Crowley's at a loss to what to do, because it doesn't look like Gabriel knows any more than he does (and if he does, he doesn't look up to sharing).
"Crowley?" Gabriel sounds weak and pitiful, and it's equal parts amusing and heartbreaking. "I'm kind of cold. Gimme a hug?"
Crowley snorts, because there's no way he's hugging the germ infested archangel. Gabriel's not fully human, right now, he still has bits and pieces of his Grace, and Crowley's not going to risk contact with whatever virus can get a demi-angel sick.
He tosses a blanket at Gabe, instead, and he mutters something along the lines of "Yeah, hug is secretly code for 'blanket'. Asshole.", and that reassures Crowley that he's not dying or anything equally serious, so he takes the risk of leaving Gabriel alone for a moment, and goes to make a call.
The voice that answers the other end is gruff and suspicious.
"Singer residence. Who are you and how did you get this number?"
"Hello, Bobby." Crowley says, and takes a second to appreciate the noises Singer's making (are humans supposed to splutter?)
After his second is over, he continues talking. "I have a mutual acquaintance in my living room at the moment, and he's rather ill, and I hear you're the man to go to for information, so-"
Bobby cuts him off with a snort and says "Which one of my idjits have you got now?"
Crowley snickers, because he couldn't be further from the truth. "No, no, nothing of the sort, love. I've a sick angel on my couch and no idea how to deal with him, so if you would…"
"Castiel?" Singer asks, and there's actually a hint of worry in his voice.
"Getting warmer, but still not in hell." Crowley shoots back. "You're not going to guess, and even if you did, I would have no problem lying to you, so let's cut to the chase, shall we? You get me my information, and I'll, say…help your boys out, the next time they get sent my way. Sound fair, Singer?"
"Cuuuuuupcaaaaaaaaake."
"Who was that?" Bobby asks. "And why are they asking for cupcakes? Just what exactly passes for demons now?"
"I wish it was a demon." Crowley mutters. (Because then, he could just smite the bastard and not have to deal with any of this shit.)
"CUPCAKE."
This time, Gabriel's louder, which is mostly due to the fact that he's gotten up and is walking towards Crowley, blanket trailing behind him like a cape.
"Love, go sit back on the couch." Crowley orders.
"I don't wanna." Gabe whines. "Your minions keep coming in and glaring at me, and I can't even do anything to them and this sucks balls."
Poorly stifled laughing draws Crowley's attention back to the phone.
"Is that Gabriel?" Bobby, apparently, could hear every word, and was highly amused.
Crowley spares a moment to direct Gabriel down to the kitchen table, and find some cold medicine in one of the cabinets. (He doesn't even know why he has cold medicine to begin with, but he vaguely remembers Gabe saying something about the good old days and stuff that made you really, really interested in carpet fibers for a few hours, so perhaps it's better to not ask questions.)
By the time he turns his attention back to the phone, Bobby's calmed down, for the most part.
"Gabriel's the sick angel you have on your hands?" he says.
"Do you have any advice?" Crowley asks.
"Yeah," Singer says, and there's something in his voice that makes Crowley suspicious.
"Good luck…Cupcake"
Click.
Dial tone.
The Crossroad's King is in the middle of a truly admirable cursing streak, when the oddest expression crosses his face.
And he sneezes.
Gabriel looks at him, wide-eyed. Crowley glares back.