It was one thing to believe that you were sitting next to an angel - and Boyd didn't necessarily 'believe' it so much as he could feel in his eyes and ears and throat and insides that it simply was true - but it was another for a once bible-obsessed man to accept that the end times had not just come, but come and gone and been unsuccessful. If what Castiel said was true - and Boyd had an easier time grasping that than he did understanding why he was here - then he had rebelled against God and killed other angels. And what was he supposed to make of that?
He sipped a little on his bourbon, warmer now with his touch.
"Well that's quite a story, Castiel." It was funny how two men could have a conversation without looking much at each other. Funny, strange, that is.
"My own sins may seem inconsequential to most by comparison, but I trust that you will believe me when I say that they are a weight upon my soul all the same. And I'm sure that they are equal our heavenly father's eyes." He did not say if He exists, but he did think it - probably another mark upon his already well-worn soul in the eyes of his creator.
"I have done many things in my life that I do not regret, and many that I do, most whole-heartedly, but the greatest strike against my spirit was allowin' myself to believe that I could lead men to God and not to their sufferin' and death. I had a group of men I thought I had saved, but in the end my earthly father came and murdered every single one of them, and I was left alive to remember that I could not save them. I wasn't listenin' to God, son, I was just listenin' to myself."
"And you, were you cast out of Heaven? Is that why you're sittin' here on this stool instead of singing hosannas in His name?"