"Can't do much about the starvation," Apollo admitted a little reluctantly, leaning forward in his seat. "But the wounds I can handle. I fixed a would-be fatal bullet wound not too long ago. And a brain that Ares had fucked up. The healing muscles've really been getting a workout, recently."
Sure, he'd been fucking wrecked after both Brody and Barak, but both had been worse off that Hermes, and mortal to boot. There were a lot of wounds over his body, but they'd had a couple of months to try and sort themselves out, and Hermes had Olympian glory running in his blood to help him along. It was always easier, healing his own kin.
"Any infection in your blood?" he asked, reaching out to lay a hang on Hermes' forehead, checking for fever. Infection could be a real bitch.