At first, when the Soldier wakes up sitting on a pew in the church, surrounded by soft candle-glow, it is very confused. Dying usually means lab tables and cryofreeze and being poked by various doctors and technicians to see how well the reanimation took this time. But there's no one here. And it's a church.

Then after a few blinks, memory returns, and oh, right, they're dead-for-real (unless this is a very elaborate coma-dream, they suppose, brought on by mental trauma caused by the Stupid Target) and then blew up their deceased self and now they're... back. This is a much nicer means of reanimation than usual. So the Soldier holds position for several long minutes, just sitting, just digesting the circumstances they find themselves in. It's not something they do much of, but in this case, warranted. Dying is probably a good time to think about circumstances.

But there's still spirits to shoot and demons to keep an eye on and humans to protect. So they pick themselves up, making unhappy faces at the state of their original clothes (largely ruined, now, to the point where there's really no salvaging either the tac vest or the combat pants), the state of their weapons (missing a couple knives, in need of a new clip in the Glock), and the state of Beacon as a whole. Up until they spot the boxes of ammunition and the note, anyway, which turns the scowl into a smile.

Crowley. That wonderful fucking dumbass. They could kiss him for this. So many bullets. This will last a year, even if they're careless. So they reload both guns, decide to tuck the boxes to one side until they have clothes that aren't more burned hole than material or a bag or something, and tuck the note into one of the few surviving pockets for safekeeping.

Then they stride right outside, fully-loaded Sig Sauer in hand, ready to shoot whatever spirit gets between them and a new set of clothes.