[His lips twitch into a wavering smile, like someone trying not to laugh at someone else tripping over their own feet; and though he says nothing, it goes unspoken but just as easily read: you strange little creature, so amusing.]

Sam apparently chose differently, it seems. Maybe the flannel was wearing on him.

[That, or other traumatic things. Whose to say, hmm?

Lucifer will contest none of that is blame for him to take.]

... It's good to know you're not completely useless, with those hunches of yours. Sam gave me this body — betted a fiddle of gold and didn't come out on top. You should know more than anyone that a gambling man'll have to accept when he loses the pot.

[Clearly Sam is being the illogical child about this whole mess, love him as Lucifer so very much does.]