"I swear to God, Peter, if you roll one more snake eyes, I'm going to choke you with that tiny metal cat." It was safe to say that although Tony had made enough financially sound decisions to expand his father's company into a multibillion dollar empire, Monopoly was not something he excelled at.
"I can't help it, Mr. Stark, the dice do what they wanna do - oh my God, I landed on free parking! That's like - "
"That's like enough money to call it a night, kid. We can finish tomorrow," Tony said, drowning out Peter's excitement, and the groans coming from the other players. If you asked Peter, Tony was only trying to end the game because he himself was about two rolls from going bankrupt. If you asked Tony, he'd swear on Bucky's left arm it was because the kid had a Spanish quiz tomorrow. It definitely wasn't because he was about to be humiliated by a sixteen year old who could play monopoly better than the richest businessman in the world.
"No, Mr. Stark, you're just saying that because you know I'm winning! C'mon, just because I beat you to Ventnor Avenue doesn't mean you won't get it next time." Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter, in a way that clearly said you're not helping yourself. Peter tried a different tactic.
"How about this: I'll give you St. Charles place in exchange for thirty more minutes," Peter pleaded. He handed the card out to Tony, and goddammit if Tony didn't want to take the card from him, and try to kick the little punks ass for just a bit longer. Then, he remembered May's disappointed glare when Peter had gotten his last Spanish quiz back, and while that glare might not have scared Peter, it definitely scared him.
"Kid, I promise I'm not trying to con you out of becoming supreme lord of Monopoly. It's just that it's a school night, and it's almost morning. Your aunt won't let you stay over at all if she hears I'm not putting you to bed at a semi-reasonable hour." Tony checked his watch, and the bright numbers flashed back at him. 11:46. God, Tony was getting old. Since when did he consider any time before midnight late? Since when did Tony even get tired?
It didn't look like it mattered how tired or alert Tony was, because Peter had enough energy to compensate for both of them. He and his stupid little metal shoe could run laps around Tony's boat, Steve's car, Clint's iron, Bucky's hat, and Nat's thimble, no matter how many times they tried to trick him into bankruptcy.
"Tony is right, Peter. It's time for bed," said Clint. "Remember, you have to be up at six to make the drive to midtown tomorrow. You're one tardy away from being truant." Of course Clint would be on Tony's side. He was such a dad. Tony briefly entertained the thought that he was just turning into a richer, wittier version of Clint Barton: domesticated father and aging superhero, long past his glory days and just now discovering his astonishing ineptitude at board games. He banished it from his mind, though. Some things were just too scary to think about.
Tony didn't have one remote idea how to parent Peter, he was just stumbling through this whole father figure thing blindly. Clint was always the one reminding him to brush his teeth, and wash his hair, and go to bed at a reasonable hour. Peter never seemed to mind. In fact, the kid almost reveled in being taken care of by any of the Avengers in the compound. Tony knew Peter was starved of that kind of attention - May did her best, but there was only one of her. It made loving and caring for Peter even more intimidating and more important than it already was. Peter's indignation response snapped him back to the situation at hand.
"It's not my fault that I'm always late to school! Steve makes the best pancakes in New York! And Clint, you make the best bacon!" Peter said diplomatically. "I've gotta take my time to appreciate my breakfast, otherwise it would just be a disgrace." Tony knew that if Peter could sweet talk Steve and Clint to his side, they'd overrule him. Peter obviously knew this too, because the kid was lying. Tony knew for a fact that he himself made the best bacon in New York. Peter had told him so yesterday. Damn, the kid was good.
"Peter, what if I told you that I would pack you pancakes in your lunch tomorrow, in exchange for a free pass the next time I hit Boardwalk," Steve said, with a glint in his eye. Peter grinned, clearly thinking he had won.
"No! Rogers, you are not helping. Peter, it's time for bed. Either that, or we can go over Spanish conjugations one last time, your choice." Peter pouted, and Tony felt even worse. Admittedly, the kid was one turn away from kicking Steve, Tony, and Bucky out of the game. He'd even gotten close to knocking Nat out, but it seemed like the moment anyone got distracted, large sums of money would mysteriously disappear from the bank. Steve, who was a terrible banker, was clearly being manipulated into feeding Nat a small fortune underneath the coffee table. She laughed quietly.
"I think you're being overruled, Spiderboy. Lets go, I'm turning in too." Natasha rose from her seat and held her hand out to help Peter, helping him up from the pile of cushions he had managed to stockpile for himself. Tony sent her a grateful smile.
Peter looked around the dimly lit room. Steve was counting his money, and trying to understand where his remaining two hundred dollars had disappeared to. Bucky was laying down next to Steve, having promptly fallen asleep after being told he could stay in jail for three turns. Clint was racing the wheelbarrow and the boat across the board like an eight year old, and Tony looked back at Peter with a wry grin, and mentally took back what he had thought about Clint being the most 'adult' person in the room.
Tony saw Peter's face change as he resigned himself to going to bed. He should've known it would be Nat that finally convinced him. The kid could never say no to her.
"Fine, I concede. But don't think this is over!" Peter said with a new conviction, and Tony knew he was in for it tomorrow night. "After I kick that Spanish test in the ass, I'm going to be back tomorrow to whoop all of your butts at this game, just you wait!" And with that, Nat pulled him out of the room to bed.
Tony sunk back into the couch with a sigh, and Steve sent him a look. Tony glared back at him.
"What, Rogers? Do you have something to say?" Steve just smiled and shook his head.
"No, I just never thought I'd see the day when you'd be sending someone to bed early. You know how much Peters changed you?"
Tony blushed, and didn't meet Steve's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Cap."
Steve raised his eyebrows, like this didn't convince him at all. "Okay, sure. The Tony Stark I used to know didn't go to bed until the sun started coming up."
"What was I supposed to do? The kid has a Spanish quiz!"