Glow

Chapter 3

Alphonse pulled a little red wagon along behind him as he made his calm morning walk to Central Command.

He had left the barracks early that morning, before the sun cleared the horizon. Edward was still fast asleep in his small bed, his snores and the dim glow from his nasal cavity signaling an oncoming head cold.

His brother had been out in the rain for too long over the past few days, and Alphonse knew he wouldn't wake up on the right side of the bed that morning because of it. So, Alphonse decided to give his brother his rest and run his few errands for him, leaving a small note for him to wake to. He made sure to put extra fuel in the wood stove to keep their apartment warm and recovered Colonel Mustang's rain cap from behind the couch where his brother carelessly tossed it the night before.

It was slightly creased from its rough use, but Alphonse straightened it out and placed it in the wagon to take with him on his trip to the Command Center. He planned on returning it along with the pain medicine the Colonel had sneaked into Edward's coat. His brother refused to keep the medicine the Colonel had given him because he was still angry at the man for tricking him like that. However, though he was stubborn, he was smart enough to take a few the previous night to make it through the storm. The bottle was now a few pills lighter than when they got it, but Alphonse was sure the Colonel wouldn't mind.

The red wagon that Alphonse was pulling splashed through puddles on the sidewalk that were left over from the storm. Its front left wheel was loose and squeaked beneath the weight of eleven pies—five blueberry, six strawberry—a couple apple tarts, and ten dozen cookies of many varieties, all stacked on thin metal racks for transport. Alphonse was planning on delivering them to the children's home after his stop by the Command Center, though he highly doubted all of the goodies would make it that far—soldiers loved their sweets.

Though the wagon came in handy for carrying things, he guessed that he might have looked strange pulling it since he was no longer six years old and also held the appearance of a seven foot tall suit of armor. However, he didn't care if he got more strange looks than normal because of it, Alphonse couldn't rid himself of the wagon. He had bought it within a few days of their big move to the military barracks after Edwards enlistment as a State Alchemist. They didn't have a car to carry heavy things long distances because neither he nor Ed were old enough to drive. Alphonse didn't even know how if he wanted to try.

When they first moved into the barracks, they'd bought a bunch of dishes, silverware, and cooking supplies from the local store, but had no way to take it back to their apartment from there. Alphonse purchased the red wagon on the spot and used it to haul their dishes back. Though he bought it out of a moment's necessity, he hadn't had the heart to get rid of it; it reminded him of the little red wagon that he had back in Resembool when he was little. His mother used to pull him up the hill with it, and once after he had broken his leg on their tire swing, Edward pulled him the few miles to school in it every day so he wouldn't wear himself out on his crutches.

That wagon was gone now, burned with their house—but his new wagon was still with him even after a few good years of hard work. Other than hauling the occasional random large object, Alphonse used the little red wagon to carry his groceries from the store and deliver his baked goods around the city. He sometimes had the joy of pulling their neighbor's daughter around in it when she wanted to play with him.

He had left the barracks early that morning before the sun cleared the horizon. Edward was still fast asleep in his small bed, his snores and the dim glow from his nasal cavity signaling an oncoming head cold. His brother had been out in the rain too long and too often over the last few days, and Alphonse knew he wouldn't wake up on the right side of the bed that morning. So, Alphonse decided to give his brother his rest and run his few errands for him.

He took a few trips up and down the stairs of the barracks to fill his wagon with his pastries and then left a note for his brother to wake to. He made sure to put extra fuel in the wood stove to keep their apartment warm and to recover Colonel Mustang's rain cap from behind the couch where his brother had carelessly tossed it. It was slightly creased from its rough use, but Alphonse easily straightened it out. He put it in the wagon to take with him to the Command Center. He planned on returning it and the pain medicine before he made his trip downtown to the children's home to drop off the pastries. Edward refused to keep the medicine the Colonel gave him because he was still angry at him for slipping it into his pocket. However, though he was stubborn, he was smart enough to take a few the previous night to make it through the storm. The bottle was now a few pills lighter than before, but Alphonse was sure the Colonel wouldn't mind.

There was a loud splash as he stepped in one of the deeper puddles. Waves rippled out from beneath him and Alphonse carefully lifted his foot out of the miniature lake and maneuvered his wagon around it to prevent the pastries from getting wet.

The rain had lasted a few long and terrible days and had caused a lot of trouble in the countryside villages that lay near the rivers. With everything that the military had to do to ensure that the flood damage was kept to a minimum, Alphonse was glad that the only traces left were a few puddles. However, as glad as he was, he still knew that people were struggling through the mud to salvage their lives miles away. In Optain, houses were destroyed, families were torn apart, and people had perished in the roaring waters of the bloated river. The worse part was that Alphonse could do nothing to stop it—he guessed that was the power of nature. Even with the smartest minds or the strongest of bodies, humans were never meant to tame it. It was always like that, Alphonse assumed. A steadfast source of terror and disaster, yet a constant flow of life and wonder thrived beneath the murky waters of mother nature. It really fascinated him that even though the earth was ages upon ages old, it was still creating new things to amaze the mind and startle the senses. For example, the Illumination.

Edward told him that the Illumination affected him too, but Alphonse, along with everyone else, couldn't see it. He couldn't feel pain, so there was no reason for his body to glow, but Edward insisted that he saw him light up every now and then. He assumed his brother was just crazy, but he always seemed to know when he was feeling down. Aside from the obvious sign of his stress baking, Edward always stayed by his side until he knew that he was going to be alright and not a second shorter. Alphonse was amazed at his intuition, but he guessed that was just what being a good older brother was about.

Though his armor wasn't affected by the Illumination, he thought it to be quite useful. It showed people's pain, their illness, their problems. It could tell you that you were sick before your body even knew it. He often took advantage of it to keep his brother from running himself into the ground. Even though the strain he put on his body was obvious now with the glowing lights, he was still oblivious to it. However, it seemed that everyone who was affected by the Illumination had a negative opinion towards it. They hated the glow because it kept them up at night. They didn't like having to look at someone's inflamed kidneys through their jacket. They didn't like people knowing exactly what was wrong with them.

Alphonse didn't know what the Illumination felt like. Maybe it had an odd itch or warmth that made everyone so grumpy towards its presence. He didn't know. But one would think that with such a power, someone would try to use it to make someone better. A lot of Alphonse's friends had lost faith in the idea that the Illumination could bring aid to those that need it. They watched as people glowed with the same wounds and aches they woke up with and went to bed without relief. It was just a light that showed pain, it didn't mean anyone was obligated to help. Alphonse, however, still had hope. Even though the Illumination didn't affect him, he had hope that the glowing pains would dim and people would live just a little happier with each other. All it might take was time and a few blueberry pies.

Alphonse rolled his wagon down the street, waving occasionally at passersby who were out on their morning walks after a few long days inside. Only a small amount of them smiled back at him genuinely. The majority of the people on the street raised their eyebrows at his giant suit of armor or made baffled faces. Alphonse didn't mind, though, because he understood that he must look odd. He waved to them anyway and continued on his way. As Alphonse approached the gate to the Command Center, the number of soldiers increased while the number of civilians decreased. They each bore their own lights, from aching knees to jarred backs caused by the long hours on their feet or at their desks. It was always more of one than the other.

Alphonse tried his best to push through the morning rush, but his wagon was a little hard to maneuver, especially when everyone was hopping around to avoid wetting their boots in the puddles. He only stopped fighting the crowd when he heard the familiar voice of Master Sergeant Fuery calling for him. Alphonse looked over his shoulder to where he thought the man was, but found only the odd blur of random privates' faces.

"Down here," he heard Fuery squeak, and Alphonse's eyes darted down to the wet sidewalk to see him sitting on the dark cement, resting against the bars of the Command Center's gate. He seemed in no rush to get anywhere, even though morning formation was in only a few minutes and he couldn't be late to that. It was then that he caught sight of the burning light coming from the man's foot, which had shed its black military boots in exchange for a large and bulky leg brace. It shone so bright that Alphonse could make out the broken bone and inflamed tissue that were causing the man's pain. Cheap crutches were propped against the gate behind the Sergeant, worn and obviously used by prior patients.

"What happened?" Alphonse exclaimed in shock as he dropped the handle to his wagon and stooped down to the Sergeant's side. The young man chuckled as if it was a rather funny story how he got his leg mangled. Alphonse didn't think anything like that would be particularly hilarious, but he didn't want to tell the Master Sergeant that in case he spoiled his mood.

The man wiped the lenses of his glasses clean on the soft fabric of his white undershirt and pushed them back up his nose so the top of them brushed the brim of his patrol cap. "Yesterday evening I was helping some lower enlisted soldiers install radios in the vehicles in the lot and one of the privates managed to drive one of them over my foot. That is why you always check the parking break," the man warned him gently.

As a soldier who was only in his early 20's, Fuery was able to claim the rank of Master Sergeant because of his own devotion to his work and his knack for tinkering with equipment. He would often go outside to get his hands on the work rather than oversee it from an office desk. No one could fix or fit a radio like Fuery could, so no one complained if they had to run down to the motor pool to find him to sign an approved license. However, though he held a decent status, he was still young and made a few mistakes here and there. This time, his mistake gave him a broken foot.

"It was a long night in the hospital, but they managed to patch me up a bit. I'm just out here waiting for the hallways to thin out. I don't want to be a road block with my crutches." His voice was filled with exhaustion. Fuery was horribly tired, if the bags underneath his eyes has anything to say about it. His body seemed to sag into the gate behind him, and if he was any thinner, Alphonse would have expected him to just fall right between the black iron bars and sleep there.

He shouldn't have come to work. He should have taken the day off like Edward, especially since he was stuck hobbling around on crutches. Alphonse knew from his own experience that they were just as exhausting as crawling your way to your destination. They hurt the hands and were hard to maneuver. He wanted to scold the Master Sergeant for pushing himself so hard after just getting his foot hurt, however, just as Alphonse was about to advise the man on his poor life choices, the young Sergeant caught sight of his wagon. His dark eyes wandered over the many sweets and goodies that filled the cart, stopping on a rather tempting apple tart before turning back to him with a spark of peaked curiosity.

"Did you stress bake again, Alphonse?" the man asked him, knowing full well the impulsive habits he had when he was stressed. It was actually the Sergeant who got him the recipe book he used; ever since Alphonse had brought in his first pie—whose crust was shamefully burnt and apples outrageously tart—the unit had encouraged his baking. Everyone gave him a few tips here and there, but none more than Fuery and Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. Alphonse got many recipes and a lot of help from Mr. Hughes' wife, and Fuery would often stop by his dorm to help him cook. Since they lived in the same barracks, Fuery would also help him out with chores and such, particularly when his brother was away on missions or out of town. He was grateful for his help and would give him an apple tart in return for his efforts.

"Y-yeah," Alphonse admitted shyly, not wanting to worry the man. "I'm going to take some of them to the children's home, but you're welcome to a pie."

Fuery let out a heavy breath, his dark eyes twinkling in understanding.

"Looks like we both had a rough night, huh?" He smiled weakly. "I'm sure the kids will love the treats, but I don't think Breda will let you to leave without giving him one of those strawberry pies."

"But his diabetes—"

"He could save it for when his sugar levels get too low." Fuery shrugged as he tried to push himself off the ground to stand once more. He only managed to knock his crutches over before falling over again. His foot flared, and the Master Sergeant let out a little yelp of pain.

Alphonse gasped and quickly recovered the crutches before going to the man's aid. Several soldiers turned their heads to watch his giant armored form lift the broken man and prop him up on his crutches. They didn't lift a finger to help.

Panting heavily from his excursion, Fuery adjusted the crutches and straightened his patrol cap. He looked ragged and worn, and Alphonse could tell that his foot hurt him a lot more than he let on. The man was too kind-hearted to let a little pain put him off.

"Sergeant, don't you have any pain medication for you leg? I would have thought the doctors would have prescribed you something."

The young man sighed tiredly. "It was late when I got out. I have the prescription, but the pharmacy was closed when I went to pick it up. I'll have to stop by after work today to get it. Until then—" Fuery shrugged.

Knowing that he wasn't as concerned as he should have been, Alphonse decided to pick up the slack. He turned around and rummaged in his wagon for the old leather rain cap of the Colonel's. He reached in and pulled out the small bottle of pills that he had tucked there to keep safe. He'd been going to return them to the Colonel, but seeing as he hadn't kept them to begin with, he didn't think it would hurt anyone to give them to the Master Sergeant for the time being. He could tell that the young man really needed them, and Fuery wasn't one to deny help should it come his way. Aid seemed to be a rarity now days.

Shaking the bottle to make sure that the pills were still there, he handed them off to Fuery, who took them gratefully. His shiny dark eyes glanced over the bottle before a thankful smile spread across his face.

"Thank you, Al. I am amazed that you have these on you."

"Brother is doing anything he can to get rid of them."

"I thought he went out to get some yesterday with the Colonel. Why would he want to get rid of them?"

"Don't ask." And he didn't ask. Instead he thanked him once more, tucked the bottle into his uniform pocket, and began to hobble through the thinned crowd to make it to their office before the Colonel blew a fuse. He had already missed morning formation, and Alphonse was worried for what trouble he might get in for that.

Grabbing the handle of his little red wagon, he slowly followed the Master Sergeant into the Command Center. He made sure to drop off a couple custard tarts for the secretaries and guards at the door as he made his way in. Despite their glowing backs and aching shoulders—no doubt the result of long days hunched over their desks—they smiled gratefully at him and told him to keep his brother out of trouble. They made it sound easier than it was.

Alphonse opened the door for Fuery, who thanked him and hobbled in, much to everyone's surprise. The entire office seemed not to have known of their youngest Sergeant's misfortune and swarmed him for the story. It took the man twice as long as it should have to get to his desk, which was still covered in broken radios and open toolboxes. Alphonse parked his wagon in the corner of the office and went to the water cooler to get the Sergeant a cup of water. The man was exhausted and was very eager to take the pain medication that he had given him.

The officers took notice of the baked goods in the room and were browsing them over eagerly.

One thing he had noticed over his few years of being acquainted with the military was that soldiers loved food. They loved it as an excuse to get out of the office. They loved it as an excuse to not eat mess hall food. They loved it just as a thing to do and talk about because work was so boring. This was exceptionally true when it came to Alphonse's baking; everyone knew that Alphonse's stress baked cookies were beyond the best in the entire Command Center. He made a good cookie on a normal day, but they never held the gooeyness or warmth that his stress baked ones did. Though it wasn't a good sign when he brought them in, everyone loved them anyway. It seemed that maybe when he was trying to cook his worries away, he took extra care in making sure he didn't worry about burning or putting too much flour in his recipes. Everything was as exact and perfect as it could be.

Alphonse took a box of cookies off the top and offered some to them; they were gone within a few minutes. Lieutenant Havoc had taken three cookies and currently was shoving the second one into his mouth while Lieutenant Hawkeye had graciously taken one and set it aside into her lunch that she packed herself every morning. Warrant Officer Falman was about to reach in to get one when Colonel Mustang swept by and snatched the entire box from Alphonse's hands.

The Colonel came into the office late, probably having gotten caught with the higher ups in the hallway like he usually did. Alphonse, on the occasion that he was in the Command Center with his brother, would often see the Colonel get cornered by some of the Generals. They gave him list after list of things to do and people to see, and he could tell how much that burdened Mustang, especially with the stack of paperwork Hawkeye undoubtedly had waiting for him. Alphonse wanted to assume that it was just a friendly reminder by the Generals, but he knew better. With Colonel Mustang climbing the ranks so quickly, the Generals liked to try anything to keep him from filling out his next promotion. Alphonse could tell from the irritated look in the man's eye that the Colonel had just gotten done with his daily brief.

"Alphonse, I would appreciate it if you didn't try fattening my men with your baked goods. Chief Falman shouldn't get a cookie because he failed his physical fitness test last month. I am afraid you can only give them to those who actually succeeded in sustaining their fitness scores," Mustang said with a pointed look at his eldest subordinate.

The warrant officer looked to be fumbling for an excuse, but finding none, he settled for a depressed, "Yessir," and returned to his desk chair to ease his glowing knees.

Seeming satisfied with his authority, Mustang smirked and then turned to Fuery, who was sipping the rest of the water that Alphonse had given him for his pills. His eyes looked over his subordinate's foot, not betraying any emotion he felt. Alphonse couldn't tell if he was disappointed in Fuery for breaking his foot or if he was actually concerned for his wellbeing. Both the Colonel and Lieutenant Hawkeye were very good at covering their emotions, which Alphonse assumed came in handy when dealing with their superiors, but it made it rather difficult to tell what they were thinking.

"You missed first formation, Sergeant. Sign in or you won't get paid." He handed Alphonse the box of cookies, though not without taking a couple for himself. He turned around and motioned for Al to follow him back to his office as he stuffed one of the cookies in his mouth.

Alphonse grabbed the handle of his wagon and followed the Colonel, who had disappeared into his office. It was a little difficult to maneuver the wagon between the desks, but Alphonse knew from experience not to leave a cart full of baked goods unguarded in a military facility. He have neither pastries nor a cart to return to.

As he passed by Falman's depressed and hunched form, he faltered slightly. After a second of thought, he quickly sneaked another cookie out of his box and handed it to the Warrant Officer as he went by. The man appeared to nearly cry in gratitude, but Alphonse brought a finger up to his helmet in motion to tell him to keep it quiet. For his sake, he wouldn't want the Colonel to find out.

Falman silently nodded his head as he took a bite from the chocolate chip cookie.

Mustang's office was quiet when the door closed. It was slightly dim, as the lights had not been turned on yet, which made the scene easy on the eyes. The rising sun gave a calming light which was enough to read and do paperwork by for a morning. Mustang's glowing back provided another source of light that Alphonse would have bet was even brighter than the sunrise through the window. The man seemed to wince as he slowly lowered himself into his chair, not wanting to upset the glow that had already consumed him. He really shouldn't have given Edward his pain medication.

Alphonse pulled his wagon to the side, away from the door, and parked it so it wouldn't be in the way. He shifted through his goods till he found the Colonel's hat and pulled it out, brushing some stray crumbs off of it. He walked as silently as he possibly could over to the Mustang's desk and set the hat down as if it were a fragile egg.

The Colonel gave him a weak smile, his eyes still expressing his annoyance at the Generals, however, his grin was no less sincere. Al was only a little upset that after thanking him for graciously returning his hat, the man picked it up and tossed it carelessly across the room to be forgotten about until another day.

Alphonse rolled his eyes. Edward would never know how similar he was to the Colonel.

"Fullmetal told me about what happened in New Optain," the man's deep voice said softly.

Alphonse shifted nervously and nodded, not wanting to think about it. The glowing bodies in the river still haunted him when he least expected it. He would rather stay away from those intrusive thoughts if he could. "Yeah, he handed in his report the other day," Alphonse started, trying to avoid the topic, but the man just stared at him, his dark eyes shining. He knew what the wagon of pastries meant.

"You stress baked, Alphonse," he stated, holding up the golden chocolate chip cookie he still had in his hand. It left a small trail of crumbs on the coffee-and-ink-stained wood of the desk.

Alphonse stared at it, feeling slightly ashamed to have made it at all. He felt the ever growing need to just slink out of the office and hide as Mustang looked him over—but the Colonel's eyes softened and he rested his arm back down on the desk as if the cookie was too heavy to lift any longer.

"Because you didn't burn down the barracks this time making the world's best chocolate chip cookies and cakes, I assume that your brother talked to you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Are you going to be alright?" the Colonel asked.

Alphonse looked up when he heard the sincerity in the man's voice. His composed mask that he held in front of his subordinates was completely gone, and in its place was the face of a man who was truly concerned for Al's wellbeing. Most people assumed that the Colonel was a narcissistic, self-serving womanizer, but the paint on a canvas does not portray the artist's actual mind, no matter how close it gets. The critic couldn't have been more wrong in this case, and no one told the Colonel that enough, but it seemed he knew that already.

Alphonse couldn't bring himself to looking him in the eye as he nodded.

Mustang waited for a verbal answer, but got none, so he repeated his question. "Are you going to be alright?" he stated, each word coming out slow and clear, as if they demanded a full answer.

Alphonse shivered and tried to collect himself. He only managed to nod his helmet once more and squeak out a barely audible yes.

The Colonel didn't look convinced as his dark eyes ran over him once more—however, he seemed to acknowledge that it pointless to push the conversation any further. He sighed and ran his hand over his face, massaging his stubbly chin. For some reason, he seemed to have forgotten to shave that morning.

"Where are you taking them?" he questioned, nodding his head to the wagon filled with goodies.

"To the children's home. I was thinking that the kids would like some home bakes. They don't get them a lot over there," Alphonse told him quietly. "Brother thinks it would be a good idea to sell them to get money for the home, but I think I'll let them decide for themselves. Some of the kids probably haven't had a good piece of pie in a while."

The Colonel smirked as he leaned back in his chair. Alphonse tried to ignore the twitch in the man's brow as his back flared.

"It has been common knowledge around the Command Center that I owe Fullmetal some change," the Colonel noted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his black leather wallet. It was thick, but didn't appear to be used often as the creases in the binding were still pressed and firm. Edward has been borrowing and lending money from Mustang for years and complained at how bad of a money pincher he was. Alphonse didn't think he was too bad; after all, the number one rule that money pinchers follow is never to have any on them—that way no one can borrow it.

The Colonel plucked a few coins and notes from the wallet before shoving it back in his pocket out of the way. "He's been screaming it up and down the hall for months now. I think he would consider it paid off if I gave it to you so you could take the kids some milk too. As amazing as your cookies are, I was left a bit parched from just one," the man said, handing the jingling coins over to him.

Alphonse held his hands up, not wanting to take it, but the Colonel grabbed his leather-bound hand and dropped the coins in it. He wasn't taking no for an answer. Alphonse looked down and saw a rather ungodly amount, and couldn't help but let a gasp escape him. How much did he think a couple gallons of milk cost?

"I didn't hear about you owing my brother any money, especially not this much!" Alphonse exclaimed as he looked back up at Mustang, who was grinning back at him, something clever hidden behind his eyes.

"Consider it insurance. I must tell you that as you graduate to higher ranks, promotion packets have to be filled with nearly anything possible to make you look good. I think I'll be the first Brigadier General who has community service in theirs." The Colonel smiled devilishly. His narcissistic mask was slowly reappearing on his face, and Alphonse could tell that for the safety of his image he either wanted the world to know he was giving milk to children for promotion, or he wanted it to be hushed so as to not sound too caring or soft. After all, the man had ranks to climb and a country to run. No one could be soft doing that.

"I won't tell anyone, Mr. Mustang," Alphonse said gratefully, and the man nodded. Taking the pause in conversation as sign to go, Alphonse put the loose change in the leather pouch on his thigh and jingled over to his wagon. He picked up the handle and was about to dismiss himself from the office when the Colonel called out to him one last time.

"Alphonse," he said, just as the phone began to ring. The loud piercing chime cut through the air, but didn't distract Mustang from what he wanted to say. He rested his hand on the phone as if that would quiet its noise and kept his stern gaze on Alphonse. "Don't give Warrant Officer Falman another cookie," he warned, before answering the phone and turning his attention elsewhere.

Alphonse bowed slightly and shuffled his way out the door, not wanting to disturb the man's phone call. He pulled his wagon out of the Colonel's office, the coins tinkling in his pocket, and closed the door silently behind him. When he got into the front office he saw that the Master Sergeant was waving to him, beckoning him over. His leg was propped up on his desk and he was holding a screwdriver as he worked on one of the hand microphones for the radio set. Alphonse shuffled over to him.

"Hey, I just got off of the phone with Second Lieutenant Breda and he isn't going to be in the office today. He has a doctor's appointment about his insulin medication. He asked if I could pull a strawberry pie off to the side for him. Would I be able to do that?" the man asked kindly. Alphonse chuckled as he reached into his wagon and pulled out one of the many pies. He set it down on the desk for him and Fuery smiled thankfully.

"It seems that you were right. Even though he isn't here, Lieutenant Breda still isn't letting me leave without one of the pies," Alphonse joked.

The Sergeant laughed. "Thanks Al. I'll give it to him tomorrow at the—" He was cut off when all of a sudden the door to Mustang's office flew open and crashed into its adjoining wall.

"THAT SON OF A BITCH!"

Alphonse spun around, eyes wide, to see the Colonel standing in the doorway to his office, his face red with anger. The light conversation of the room was quickly silenced as they got a look at their Commander's ruffled appearance.

Seeming to note how much he'd startled everyone, the Colonel took a moment to regain his composure. He took in a deep breath and slowly the redness of his face drained hue by hue. He straightened his jacket and turned to Hawkeye as if he didn't just burst through his own office door like a raging maniac.

"I just got a call from Fullmetal," he told her calmly, though his voice was still thick from the anger he held within. "Make a note that I got a chiropractor's appointment at two."

"I am not your secretary, sir," the woman informed him which just brought the red right back.