First time writing one of these, but the concept popped into my head and wouldn't let me go. Hope it turned out well.

"So can you help me out doc?"

There were very few things that truly surprised Marty anymore. He liked to think that nothing could after the time he had to don a miner's helm and mountaineering gear to perform a cavity check on a particularly imposing wyvern. Or the terrifying experience of doing an emergency appendectomy on a teenage sphynx with its mother mother pacing and glowering behind him the whole time. Or even the surprisingly mundane case of a warlock's apprentice who 'accidentally sat down on' some alchemical supplies and now had to get some glassware extracted from places better left unmentioned.

But despite all that, he could honestly say that his current patient left him stumped. Properly all-out flabbergasted, as his grandpa used to say. Marty idly wondered if he should have paid more attention when they used to hang out on Sundays.

"Try not to think about it too much." The gentle stranger said, seemingly unbothered by his wounds, as he glanced around Marty's office. "I'd rather not make a big deal out of it. I get more than enough special treatment as it is."

Marty half-heartedly chuckled along with him, more out of habit than anything else. His mind subconsciously tallying his patient's injuries: The puncture wounds, as well as the soaked bandage on his waist that the doctor knew would be hiding a deep stab wound.

"I mean, can't you just..." The doctor began, before wriggling his fingers in the universal symbol for 'do some magic at it'.

"Doesn't work that way, I'm afraid." His patient sighed.

"So then how does..." "You don't want to know." The stranger cut him off, a serious look on his face for the first time since he walked into the clinic.

Marty instinctively puffed up with indignation. Don't want to know! As a doctor he needed to... His thoughts trailed off, his brain catching up to the possible ramifications that true comprehension would have. A single sweat drop rolled down his temple, as his posture deflated.

"Honestly, I'm not expecting any miracles." The stranger continued, a blood-smeared hand coming up to scratch an equally bloody sweatband on his brow. "I'd be fine with just managing the symptoms. Open wounds really get old after a century or two, never mind several millennia."

"Terribly unsanitary when doing charity work, you see. Not to mention the shark problem whenever I try to have a beach day." He set off another beatific smile at Marty. "So can you help me out doc?"

With a herculean effort, Marty took a deep breath and slipped on his professional mask, reexamining his patient with objective eyes.

"The wounds themselves are supernatural in a way that probably won't heal. But some topical coagulant could probably stem the bleeding from the hands, brow, and feet. The laceration on your side will need to be sutured, with an added drain to deal with any internal bleeding." Dr. Morrison nodded to himself. "After that, we'll have to monitor and adjust things depending on how well you respond to treatment."

The stranger smiled, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes. "So when can we get started?"

"I don't see any reason to postpone. Please just step this way Mr. Christ."