Boyd looked somewhat unsettled at the idea of being out of sync - at being wrong when he felt perfectly ordinary, perfectly right. "No, I did not." He didn't elaborate, but he hadn't asked precisely because he hadn't wanted to know, because he didn't like the idea that Raylan might be right about him, that he remembered Boyd doing things that Boyd didn't want to be remembered doing. There was an anchor attached to those memories that weren't his, and he knew as soon as he thought it that knowing about his failure would drag him all the way down. So he would not ask, he would not seek it out. He hardly wanted to acknowledge it at all, which was intensely troubling for a man of his curious nature.
The notion of God existing but not in the way he'd previously thought was equally troubling, and though Boyd had the sense to recognize that Castiel was also from a different place, the gravity of what he said weighed at him - because if he believed in God, he believed in one God, not so many iterations of him like ripples in water. His brow creased heavily and he leaned his elbows into his knees, bar forgotten, all attention on his unearthly companion.
"Well, my friend. Whatever God is, if he exists than he has got to be greater than anything we'll ever know. And maybe he's prioritizin' in a way that we can't understand, or maybe he is not. All I know is that faith ain't gonna make him speak any louder. I no longer know what it will do, except for maybe make his blind eye a little easier to endure."