It's strange, the way sounds can blur and everything else; a haze of sound trying to mumble into ears of cottonbud - and a brain like one, too. He's trying to stagger up, hands on hard dirt, everything a bit woozy from a knock to the head that pulses in the same waves that unsteady him. Help would be great, a hand offered getting one gripped onto Esteban's arm while Tidus tries to right his vision.

"Get them out-" He's not there yet, not in his right senses, but between the struggling breath, he's got a goal, one thing he knows, wants, cares about more than himself. His sight still blurry, but he's making appear in his hand - from the nowhere of hammerspace - a bottle.

"I'll follow... get'em - I can knock them out."

There's more he means to say, convey, but he doesn't want Esteban to linger, and he needs to down his potion and hope it'll cover him to get back up and doing what he needs to.