A/N

Hello dear readers!

I'm just going to be upfront here with you guys and say this is my first true fan fiction EVER and I am completely, utterly, freaking TERRIFIED because regulations and categories and what if I get the rating wrong? And what if everyone hates it? And…and…yeeeaaaahhh, so…

CHAPTER 1 AWAITS!

Who will indeed lead the call for America?

Carry the flag shore to shore for America?

Who's here to prove that we can?

The Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!

SMACK!

"Jarvis? Has Dad been messing with my alarm again? Because I was set to wake up to Black Sabbath, and that was not Black Sabbath."

"Good morning Ms. Stark. I am not at liberty to divulge such information." Did that AI just use sarcasm?

"Of course, Jarvis." I sigh, then grumble "If anybody could make a sassy AI, it would be my dad, wouldn't it?"

"You bet it would." I glance up from my seat on my bed to see my father, the one and only Tony Stark, leaning against my doorframe.

"Nice song choice. Why that one? I swear Steve are purely platonic. If I had a crush on anyone on this team, it wouldn't be Steve, it would be…" I snap my jaw shut before I let my not-yet-awake brain spill that particular secret.

"It would be…who? If not Stars-and-Stripes, then whom, dear daughter, owns your heart? It wouldn't be, say, a certain hawk?"

Cue snort, eye roll, and slug to the shoulder,

"For the last time, dad, I don't have a crush on anyone on the team. I'm only fifteen, you should really be happy about that."

"But you just said-"

I cut him off with a firm "No. Blame it on lack of coffee. Now get out, I'm getting dressed, be down in a second."

Once he leaves, I throw on a pair of black fuzzy sweats and an Iron Man t-shirt (what? You call it shameless advertising, I call it family pride) and make my way to the communal living/eating/lounging area, where I am greeted by the rest of my team and the smell of pancakes. My dad slides a plate in front of me while I grab a glass of orange juice

"So who cooked breakfast? I need to know whether or not it's edible."

My dad manages to look mildly offended.

"Ha, ha, Taylor. My cooking is not that bad."

"Yes it is. Your last attempt at omelets had Natasha running for the bathroom, and she's Russian. They have stomachs of freaking steel."

This gets vague nods of agreement from the entire team, except for said red-haired assassin.

"We agreed never to speak of that. Just be quiet and eat your breakfast, both of you. Fury is coming by later, new evil aliens or robots or something might be on the horizon, apparently. He didn't give many details."

This bring groans from the rest of the table myself included.

"What does Eye patch want now? I mean, seriously, how many evil psychotic alien people are there out there? Do they have nothing better to do then try and take over the world?"

"Too many, and it looks like no. But Loki was only the start. He's sort of like a Pied Piper now, because extraterrestrial psychopaths seem to be coming out of the woodwork." Clint replies.

"There is no rest for heroes, I suppose." I hop off my seat a set my dishes in the sink. "Although that seems highly overrated. Anyways, I'm off to the lab, my suit needs a few touch-ups if there is going to be a new invasion. You know where to find me."