He's grateful that she listens and doesn't stop him. It might be easier later once it's more settled, once it's been told once, but right now to have his line of thought interrupted would make it harder to all get out. So he goes until the end, and waits for her to write. He lets her fingers touch his arm, no resistance, no discomfort.

A nod answers her question. "I think... that's it there. For me if no one else. I don't have a dreamself anymore. Jane's power can only be used once. The dream bubbles were being destroyed, and this happened far outside them, so no one else with life powers can come fix it--and even that would probably need me to not be burned to ashes in the lava."

The last bit comes out with difficulty, like forcing it through a tightening throat. He can still feel it: how hot it was, burning as he sunk in. It can't even be called cooking him alive. It was hotter and quicker, and though the death might have been swift, he's got another heavy reason to avoid sleep for a long time.