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Ganymede learned the trick to getting away with lying very on.
Once he learned that Jupiter was their planet, and that his job was to take care of them, and that Ganymede himself was a moon and had a set place in the Solar System—he did what any being that just realized they were alive and had free will would do.
He rebelled.
He started off small, not listening the first time Jupiter told him to do something, sneaking off to the asteroid belt (it wasn’t that far away from his orbit, and Jupiter was always busy crushing over Saturn to notice that his biggest moon went missing), starting to be more reckless in general—all that jazz.
And when Jupiter started teaching them—nuh uh ew ew ew ew ew that’s where Ganymede drew the line. He wouldn’t be put through that torture. After the first two lectures Ganymede knew that he couldn’t sit through any of this for any longer or he would go insane. After the fourth he had an idea forming in his head about how to get out—and then during the fifth lecture he launched it into action.
Ganymede hung a little further back then everyone else, letting the rest of the moons clamber up and around Jupiter as the gas giant pulled out his big book and his annoyingly tiny little glasses (Seriously! They were so small Ganymede didn’t know how they even helped! It was stupid!), setting up for another orbit-long yapping session.
But not this time.
Okay. Alright. So first of all, you need to look tired. Oh-so-tired—and hang your head down too. Good, good. Shuffle along, keep your arms wrapped around your waist like you’re in pain. If someone tries to talk to you just grunt in response. Use short, breathy words to make it look like you’re having trouble breathing. If someone then asks what’s wrong, say that you’re feeling nauseous and have a massive headache and feel like the Sun is trying to boil you alive.
Hehe, he planned ahead. He was ready.
Ganymede shuffled along, keeping his eyes trained on the stars beneath him and careful not to have his eyes be too focused. He had to look woozy, not all there and—
“Ganymede?”
Yes!
Ganymede lifted his head, wrapping an arm around his stomach and squinting like he was in pain—purposefully blurring his vision as he stared up at Jupiter. His planet had all of the moons snuggled against him, and as Ganymede lifted his gaze up higher (slowly, go slowly and then wince in pain), he saw Jupiter’s concerned gaze, eyes scanning his biggest moon.
Perfect. He’d already fooled the Gas Giant.
Jupiter set the book down—folding the page he was at to be able to return to it—eyebrows crinkling as his pearly eyes filled with concern and love, “Are you okay, Ganymede?”
“H-h-he looks sick!!!” Damn Ganymede didn’t think it was going to happen that quick—but he tricked Io! The resident sick moon (and Io was definitely not faking his own sickness. What had happened with him was too real—too harsh for Io to want to fake it. Plus Ganymede was pretty sure Io was physically incapable of lying) got tricked by Ganymede’s brilliance.
Let’s freaking go.
Jupiter glanced down to his moon that had just spoken, giant hands fluttering up to cup Ganymede (and he tried to muffle his surprised squeak, slowing it down to a groan), “Oh dear! Ganymede what happened?”
Okay. Okay. So take a second. Sway a little bit. And make sure to slur your words as you talk. Okay—three. Two. One. Go!
“‘m, tired. Ow. Everythin’ hurtin.’”
Ganymede made sure to end it with a loud groan, dropping his head into his hands and massaging his temples. He felt himself being picked up further, and kept his eyes closed even as Jupiter kissed his hair with a murmur of the little one to just try to sleep—and then he was dropped onto Jupiter’s hood of his jacket, the fluffy little clouds wrapping around him so softly.
Oh. Oh wow. He could get used to this.
And he did.
Every couple of orbits, when Ganymede was really not feeling like he could sit through a lecture, he faked being sick. He faked fevers, injuries, stomach aches, aches and pains from all over—he did everything. He combed through Jupiter’s books about illnesses and how to treat them, telling anyone who came by that he was trying to figure out how to stop feeling like this so often.
He did feel…slightly bad about it whenever Io had a bad pain day with all his volcanoes and constantly moving surface and his cough got really bad—because Io’s was real. Io was constantly in pain, and whenever Ganymede got “sick” Io would be there to care for him even though Io had it worse and his pain and suffering was real.
Okay, so maybe he felt a lot bad about that part.
But!!! Everything else was amazing. He got to skip out on the boring lectures and lessons that Jupiter taught everyone (that probably would’ve lulled him to sleep anyways—but Jupiter kept everyone awake until the end to maximize their “learning capacities”—whatever the hell that means), and got treats and love and cuddles from other moons—Europa especially who stayed by him for the times that Io couldn’t—and got the special treatment.
It was a genius plan that somehow lasted for almost a billion years.
Until—it fell apart.
Io’s condition worsened. Seemingly over night it got a hundred times worse. The moons had to scramble to find a way to fix Io—to get their happy, excited, loving moon that the illness stole because this wasn’t Io. Constantly whimpering in pain, always exhausted yet can never sleep. Waking up in the middle of everyone’s sleep cycle screaming through pained sobs because his surface was shifting and crashing and it hurt.
Thankfully, Jupiter worked with Neptune (who had come back for just a little while—thank the stars) to find a fix to everything.
The solution?
Much improved medical equipment and expertise. The planets could now easily identify the problem that was plaguing the celestial—and they had the supplies to heal them (past just using their powers).
Now that was a problem for someone like Ganymede, who wasn’t actually sick most of the time.
And when—later after the whole Io debacle calmed down—he tried to do it again.
And failed. Spectacularly.
“Hey, Gany—you aren’t sick.”
“Wha—but I feel—”
“Nothing is showing up on the scan. Are you—are you faking it?”
“No!”
“You are!”
“No ‘m not. Europa trust me.”
“I—oh my stars have you been faking it this entire time? Whenever we had a lesson with Jupiter you would suddenly get sick—oh my god you manipulated me!”
“Europa—no! I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. You have to believe me.”
“Believe you? Like how we believed you were hurting just like Io and lied. You—I’m telling Jupiter.”
“NO!!!”
And then Ganymede was locked in his orbit by Jupiter—who wasn’t even mad just extremely disappointed and sad, which was probably much worse if Ganymede was being honest. The rest of the moons were…different in their reactions. Some yelled at him. Some chewed him out. Io cried. Callisto called him some colorful names.
Ganymede felt horrible for lying.
But then…a couple million years after his scandal was revealed, he started feeling funny.
It first started deep in his core—barely noticeable enough to even realize it was there. But it was there. He could feel it. A weird, heavy, sticky feeling enveloping his core and spreading outwards. One rotation he couldn’t focus on the game he was playing with Io. Another he had to cancel a date he had with Europa—which he felt horrible for but this—this annoyingly persistent feeling was starting to get to him. And he could feel it spreading.
And he was scared.
But, like the big, strong, largest moon of the Solar System he was—he didn’t tell anybody.
He thought it was just a weird thing that would pass, but oh how wrong he was.
Ganymede woke up and couldn’t move.
He tried to scream for help but only a pathetic little whimper managed to get through. He tried to move but he couldn’t—no matter how hard he fought in his mind to get his limbs and entire goddamn body to move, to do anything, it just stayed still. Limp. Like he was dead and trapped in his own body.
But—but that was impossible. He could feel himself breathing. He couldn’t be dead. He…he was probably dreaming! He would wake up soon and this weird little nightmare that his mind cooked up would fade to just a memory. He would be fine. He would be okay. This wasn’t real and it was just imaginary.
…right?
Please be fake. Please be fake. Please be—
Ganymede gasped, a split second of clarity and he was able to move—before his core ripped apart and he screamed.
He was on the verge of passing out. He couldn’t handle this. It was—ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Please let it stop. Please let it stop—please. He—he would be good. He would stop making fun of Europa—he would be nicer and less of a bully just please let this stop.
Please. Anyone.
A voice. A beautiful, raspy voice. And two eyes. A yellow, constantly shifting surface.
Io—Ganymede was able to think, before the pain ripped his thoughts away and plummeted him deeper into the spiral of pain and he whimpered so pathetically.
Someone was concerned. He could feel gravity increasing—ow ow ow ow stop it get away its hurting more please stop stop stop stop—someone touching his arm. It exploded. He gasped. Crying. Sobbing. Please stop this.
Wha—no. Why—why were they leaving? The gravity was going away. The presence around him disappeared.
Did—did they think he was faking it again?
But he wasn’t! He’d learned and stopped. He was dying—please someone anyone come and help him he can’t—
—and he passed out. The pain clawing through his core too much to handle.
He slept for a long time.
So much so that the other moons were worried. They thought something was wrong. But the memory of Ganymede continuously lying to them and the broken trust between them and the biggest moon made it so they didn’t do anything. They felt worried, sure. But they believed this was just another one of Ganymede’s manipulation tactics to get them all to like him and obsess over him and give him attention.
He would stop faking it soon. And wake up.
…and the next time Ganymede woke up he did feel much better.
Physically—that is.
Not mentally.
Never mentally.
The image—the vivid memory—of suffering so much but no one coming and they all leaving him there as he writhed in pain that no one could see—
It changed him.
For better or worse, he had no idea. That line was blurred a long time ago.
So he hid it anytime he was sick. No use showing it if no one would believe him. And he was so strong anyways that it didn’t matter because he would push through it. He could continue on with his day and sleep off the sickness later.
Nobody would believe him if he said that he was sick, and he would just be left to suffer, alone, and hurting even more than he already was.
He could never—ever—show weakness again.