[Gabriel always gets it, in every respect of the phrase, which is why Crowley likes him so much. He's unique in that he sees the world for precisely what it is. The only difference between them both is that Crowley made a profit off of it -- Gabriel was noble, in the end, and did not.

His loss. Or gain, Crowley thinks, as he sinks himself back into his chair. And the demon digests that for a moment before switching the feed to a locked one, pressing buttons with fingers that he has never touched, because telekinesis was always easier. His tone is quiet, almost unusually so, when he speaks. Distant, absent, like he's not particularly invested in the conversation, but invested enough to keep talking.]

Using the weapon crafted by God robbed me of my powers.

[It's somewhat bitter.]

He slayed the Leviathan, but hasn't bothered to fix what was done to me.