"Mom? Are you okay?" Jenny looked up at her eldest son and smiled weakly.

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Tears were still flowing down Jenny's cheeks. Artie frowned. "Don't lie to me. Is someone hurt? Is it June? Or May? Or Ryan, July or August? Tell me woman!" Catching the look on his mother's face he added "Sorry. I mean, please tell me, o dearest mother of mine?"

"No one's hurt. It's just that May's-" At that, Artie took off in to the house, not even bothering to close the front door behind him.

May Abrams was just laying on her bed and trying to think about how the hell she got in to this mess and what she was going to do about it, when her door was broken down. "What the-?" Standing (or rather sitting) the doorway was her older brother (by two years).

"What's wrong? Are you dead? Dying? Being eaten by man-eating anteaters?"

"None of the above. Knocked up. And man-eating anteaters, really? You watch too much Futurama."

"What?" May smiled at the look on her brother's face.

"You know, pregnant, with child?" Getting up off her bed, May walked over to her brother. Bending down to his level, she showed him the pregnancy test that she had been holding for the entire conversation (Artie wondered how he hadn't noticed). It was positive.

"It's a false positive. It has to be. My little 15 year-old-sister cannot be having a baby."

May sighed, red hair falling over her eyes. 'I wish. But this is the 6th test I've taken. They all have the same result."

"Tell me who the father is." Artie was now over the fact that his little sister was pregnant and now had the urge to brutally murder who ever had made her so. "Tell me and I swear to God, I'll kill him."

"I'd prefer you didn't. It's not like I'm going to include him in the baby's life or anything."

"You sound like you're going to keep it."

"I am."

A.N. I've decided to continue this. I like to thank all the people who added this to their story alerts and special thanks to Kweliobeans! Your review made my day! I hope this lived up to your expectations!

Disclaimer; I don't own Glee (as much as I'd like to)