He can push. Geralt's hand is still wrapped around the door handle to hold it close and he isn't budging by force alone. Though part of him contemplates letting go abruptly and watching Lucifer tumble inside.

He doesn't. In the space of ten seconds, he's already grown tired of Lucifer. It isn't even personal. Frankly, he's few reasons to give a shit about Lucifer. They tangled in the woods because Dean was attacked. That's where it begins and ends for him. But he also hasn't much patience to suffer fools in his home and that's exactly what Lucifer is being.

And he does not wish to be down here any longer than necessary.

"Those are outside." Deadpan—the first words he's ever spoken in Lucifer's presence, in fact, since they've crossed paths. Not a joke, either. If the demon ventures past the doors into the frosty winter, he'll find a number of skeletons and bones littering the grounds, monster and human alike, half-covered by the snow. "You can schedule a visit when the storm's passed."